Christmas in Charleston
by Ondine03
Summary: Multigenerational Fanfic, starts around Christmas of 1891, and has now inched up to 1894. Takes place after Murder on Marietta Street. Scarlett and Rhett are still (re)defining their relationship, their daughter is troubled in love, and their trio of devil's sons is merely...trouble. SORRY TO BE GONE SO LONG, SUPERBUSY WORK AND OUT OF STATE FAMILY WEDDING. HOPE TO BE BACK SOON!
1. Letters

I hadn't intended to post anything anytime soon, what with being busy with RL, but when you cross an insomniac with a new idea for a plot-line you get ….roughly 5000 words, apparently. Thank you for the many kind inquiries, whether by review or PM, about the fate of Rose and the other Butlers. This will be my first attempt at a multi-generational fanfic. It is seated roughly two years after Murder in Marietta Street – which you can read if you haven't and want to, but I think it's fine as a stand-alone.

Disclaimer: the characters of GWTW are owned by the Estate of Margaret Mitchell.

* * *

_Charleston, SC, around Christmas of 1891_

It is rare that any man of volatile temperament takes as remarkable a turn towards gracious affability in mid-life as had Mr. Rhett Butler of Charleston. His formidable wit, imbued as he now was with happy domesticity, had lost most of its barb, and none of its luster, and he doted on his wife and offspring with a fondness that was as indisputable as it was heartwarming. Mrs. Rosemary Thornton, sister of the former, might roll her eyes towards the heavens at such a transformation, and pronounce the rôle of the _reformed rake_ to be revoltingly cliché, but she was well-known to be of astringent temperament, and her opinion was for once not shared by many.

It was nonetheless with some trepidation that his lady, in the privacy of their dressing chamber, breeched the matter of the letter.

"Darling, you'll be surprised to learn that I've heard from Thad," Scarlett reported, her voice covered in a veneer of superficial brightness. She was already dressed in a most becoming green _faille_ ball gown with cunning feather trimmings. With her right hand, she dabbed a touch of powder on her nose, and she appeared to be studying her reflection intently. "It seems after two years he finally wishes to see us! He says he plans to arrive two weeks from now, just before Christmas. It appears his mother is visiting a friend of hers over the holidays, and he'll be alone. I know it'll be inconvenient to have any more visitors here, with Ella and Chase, and Wade and his family arriving so soon, so I understand if ….."

Her husband, in the process of adjusting his cravat, turned away from the mirror to face his wife. "So that's what's placed the frown between those lovely brows. I'd been wondering whether there was something about this suit that you disapproved of. I am hearted to hear it's nothing so serious, as I've had it made just for the occasion, and would have hated to send it back. " He waited for her huff, then turned back to the mirror with a grin. "You needn't fret, my dear. I shall be as pleased to see Thad as I am to house Wade and his family, and Ella and her husband. It was never my wish that Thad and I should become so estranged. It will be good for him to be around family at Christmas. And little Rose will be pleased to see her cousin."

"_Little_ Rose is over sixteen now," Scarlett reminded him, with some acidity. "And I should _hope_ that a girl who receives a dozen bouquets a day from the most eligible bachelors in town will have forgotten a childhood infatuation that would never have answered!" She conveniently forgot the length of time she herself had clung to a childhood infatuation at a similar age, and her husband did not remind her. "However, for once I wasn't thinking about _you_, Rhett Butler, for I hope I know you well enough to understand you'd be happy to see your nephew. I was thinking about Charles! I know times are not as they were, but how will he take to us receiving the son of a …well, the product of a _youthful indiscretion_ into our home? Just think of the scandal!"

"I never try to think of the scandal, if I can help it," her husband replied, comfortably. He had finished tying the cravat, eyed the result critically, and then shook his head, starting the process all over again. "Charles has the earthquake of 1886 to thank for the removal of his wife, whose sensibilities would have been truly lacerated, and he himself has neither the imagination or the energy to be offended. He has no other son, and if he's wise he will take the chance to meet him, but I predict he will simply avoid us for the few weeks that Thad is here. At any rate, Charles can please himself, and his daughters are grown and married, and live out of state."

"But the girls?" Scarlett questioned. "As much as I like Thad, I don't want to hurt their chances. I'm of half a mind to write to him to meet us at Tara after the Season, but then again…." She sighed.

"Ella is safely married, and Rose's chances won't be hurt if you invite Lucifer himself into this house", he laughed. "The _Ton_ will take their cue from Rosemary, in whose good sense I have the strongest dependence. Not to mention a fierce family loyalty, even if she'd deny harboring such _bourgeoise_ sentiments if you challenged her. It's been years since Belle moved away from Atlanta, and memories of her establishment are no longer as acute. Then there is the fact that our money, directly or indirectly, supports many of the families whose opinion matters in this city."

"I wouldn't depend so much on Rosemary, what with a daughter yet to be married," Scarlett said. "And Charlotte needs as the help she can …" she trailed off. "Well! I don't mean to be unkind, for she's a good girl, for all that she's as flighty as she is plain, and you know I'm fond of her. But you'll have to admit she doesn't _take_ like Rose does, for all that Rose never seems to give herself any trouble!"

"An apt observation, but I doubt such considerations will influence Rosemary. If anything, she may see Thad as a potential suitor for Charlotte. In Texas, he has carved out a secure niche for himself in society. Not to mention considerable wealth."

Scarlett brightened visibly. "I hadn't thought of that! It's about time he got over what happened years ago, and starts looking around for a wife. Charlotte would answer very well, and she is even starting to take Rose's advice about dress and hair. When it comes to fashion, there's no one to match Rose, even if she _can_ be slightly overbearing at times. That girl takes after you," she finished, imperfectly hiding her adoration of both husband and daughter.

"Yes, Rose has a sharp eye both for color and form, and I've no doubt she will turn out Charlotte in a more flattering style. "

"Flattering? Form-fitting you mean, Rhett Butler." She had finished with her face, and was adding a few white blossoms to her hair. Suddenly she giggled. "Remember that green ball dress that Rose pointed out would suit Charlotte? The one we saw at the dance at the Stevensons'? I thought Rosemary would faint on the spot!"

"But she sent Charlotte over here tonight to let Rose dress her," her husband replied, with an amused gleam in his eyes. "As I said, Rosemary has good sense. But perhaps you should check on them, in case Rose's fashion sense overrides her propriety."

~~oo~~

On the bench in front of the vanity mirror sat three young women, as different in coloring as they were in temperament. The eldest, fully dressed in an embroidered _crape _dress of matronly hues, had thick, russet brown hair and an expression of sweetness, and lack of worldliness, somewhat at odds with her status as a wife of almost a years' standing. As was her habit, she regarded the two younger girls with fond appreciation, but did not contribute much to the conversation, preferring instead to listen, and to observe.

Ella Kennedy Butler had married Chase Thornton barely a year after their arrival in Charleston, with much encouragement from their respective mothers, both of whom had privately despaired of ever finding a match for their shy, socially awkward child. The match, it was universally agreed, had turned out very well, with the young couple dividing their time between the Thornton household and the Butlers', and showing no sign of wanting to strike out on their own. Their elders, deeming it inadvisable that either of them should attempt to head a household, were silently relieved.

Next to her in age, still in her undergarments, was a blonde girl of perhaps twenty years, whose angular features and large nose were her burden in life, and the despair of her mother's. Charlotte Thornton was Ella's sister-in-law, and Rosemary's only daughter, and she had now entered her third season without attracting so much as a single proposal - despite an ample dowry, excellent connections and a will to make herself agreeable to almost any eligible bachelor in their circle.

The third girl, the youngest, was perhaps the most interesting. She was of that light, fragile beauty pleasing even to the most fastidious of tastes, with curls so dark they glistened liquid black in the firelight, eyes the color of cornflowers and a face so delicate it inspired painters to reach for their easels and poets for their ink pens. Blessed with her father's discerning eye for lines and fabric, she dressed herself with flawless style, as evidenced by the deceptively simple white tulle ball gown she had laid out on the bed. But despite her indisputable loveliness, she was free of the personal vanity that had plagued the early years of her mother's career, having found her exterior throughout much of her childhood to be a hindrance rather than an asset. Those few that took the trouble to look beyond the surface found a wry sense of irony, and an artist's love for creating beauty both in people and her surroundings. The irony, no longer an overflow valve for her bitterness, she hoarded as her private gift for the select few. Her fashion-sense, however, belonged to the world, and it was on its business that she was currently employed.

Rose had watched her cousin search amongst several garments the maid had pulled out for her, and settle on a pale green gown of _crêpe de chine_ that she attempted to separate from the others.

"No, not that dress, Charlotte," Rose exclaimed, hopping from the bench to remove the offending garment from the bed, and laying it to the side. "No one with a figure like yours should wear sleeves that end half-way between the shoulder and the elbow. Can't you see it creates a line for the eye that draws too much attention to your bust? A V-neck will give you ample cleavage, but you don't want to look top-heavy, what with the broad shoulders and slim hips you have. Wear this one – it has a three-quarter sleeve, no puff at the top, and a bit more fabric in the back, which will emphasize your hips, and draw attention to your narrow waist."

She held up the garment to demonstrate its features. "As much as I hated those oversized bustles we had to drag around in the 80s, it _did_ make life easier for those of us with no hips to speak of. With the current mode, we must improvise, and I foresee a focus on sleeves and shoulders that will be difficult for the large-busted. Don't misunderstand me, I'm thrilled you're taking what I said about displaying your figure to heart, Charlotte. But it isn't enough to just emphasize your best features. What you want is to create an overall impression of _balance_ and harmony."

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "If you weren't a lady, you could make your living at any of the fine dress shops on King Street. I've never known anyone to go on and on about those things like you do!" But she grabbed the dress Rose had indicated, and pulled it over her head clumsily with the help of the young black maid. Once the fabric had been smoothed into place and she had studied her reflection critically, she nodded. "I hate to say you're right, but I think I see what you mean. It does look more ….balanced."

Cherry, their maid, concurred cheerfully. "That it does, Miss Charlotte. And if you'll let me Ah'll braid your hair like Miss Rose showed me last time, close to the side of your face like twin sea shells. Ah thought it was very becomin'."

"But it isn't _fashionable_," Charlotte protested. "_Nobody_ wears their hair in braids anymore. Everyone else at the ball will be wearing their hair in curls tied at the back. I'll be laughed at."

"Fashion is all good and well in its place," Rose replied, firmly. "But fashion unbecoming to your type is worse than no fashion at all, and the upswept curls that are _en vogue_ this year simply don't work with the shape of your head. Your cheekbones are pretty, and the braids by your ears help make your face less long. And we _tried_ a loose bun before, but you toss your head about so much it always comes undone. When Cherry is finished, I'll apply some charcoal to your outer lashes, and the outer corner of your eye. That will also help widen your face." Having resolved the matter to her satisfaction, and hearing no further protests, she gave her cousin an encouraging pat on the shoulder, before finally turning to her own dress.

It was at that moment that her mother walked in. At the age of forty-six, Scarlett O'Hara Butler was still a very attractive woman, and not few in number were the gentlemen who pointed out how easy it was to see where 'little Rose' had inherited her beauty. Her eyes swept over the charming trio, and fastened on her youngest daughter.

"Rose, love, you are still not dressed! We're going to be late. Cherry, leave Miss Charlotte's hair and help Rose into her gown first." Cherry jumped to obey her, while Charlotte made a little moue with her mouth. When the task had been accomplished, she regarded her daughter with imperfectly disguised maternal pride.

"You look lovely, Rose, even though I don't know how you knew that this tulle dress, which seemed like _nothing_ in the shop window, would become you so well. If only your father would get over his aversion to letting you wear blue, for I swear that would be even better! But never mind, this one will do very nicely." A reminiscent smile graced her lips. "You'll be the Belle of the Ball, my love, just like I was at your age!"

Maturity, and marital happiness, had made her mother more sympathetic to the plights of others, but had added very little real discernment to her character, so she missed the sardonic light in Rose's eye, and the almost imperceptible twist to the corner of the little mouth.

"Yes," that damsel replied softly, "It would be rather embarrassing if he tore off my dress like he did at Wade's wedding when I was eight. I don't think I'll ever get over the shock of suddenly finding myself in my undergarments in front of all those people. Shunning blue seems like a small price to pay." Catching the stricken look spreading over her mother's countenance, she caught herself, and added quickly, "Don't trouble yourself, Mother, that's all in the past. You know Daddy and I get along famously now. How do you like this dress for Charlotte?"

Scarlett allowed herself to be diverted, and agreed with her daughter that the dress in question was indeed most flattering to her cousin. Cherry had finished with the seashell braids, and Scarlett watched Rose apply first blush, then charcoal to the older girl's face.

"There," Rose said, with satisfaction. "Always put more blush high on the cheekbone than on the apple of your cheek, Charlotte. And use this silk scarf, it will add a light and airy feel to the entire outfit. No, only the small diamond necklace, not the large ruby pendant. Remember you don't want anything to draw attention to the length of your face."

"Your daughter is a Slave driver, Aunt Scarlett," muttered Charlotte, unhappy but compliant. Once Cherry had fastened the clasp of the necklace, she rose to examine herself in the oval, floor-length mirror. The final picture was not displeasing, and had she stood by anyone else, charitable tongues might even have called her handsome. Charlotte was as aware of the discrepancy as anyone, and only her genuine fondness for Rose prevented bitterness and envy from clouding her pleasure. She sighed. "As a Christmas gift to all unmarried girls you might consider disposing of yourself in wedlock as quickly as possible, Rose. How can any of us expect to attract a gentleman while they still hold out hope of succeeding with _you_?"

The word _wedlock_ jogged her aunt's memory, who suddenly recalled to mind her earlier conversation with her husband about a potential suitor for Charlotte. "Oh, no, not yet! We're only a few months into her first Season, and not every superior gentleman has had a chance to offer for her. Nor would I dream of letting Rose marry so young. She has plenty of time to make up her mind." She paused, trying to gather her train of thought. "Ah, yes! Did you know Cousin Thad is coming to stay with us for Christmas?"

She spoke to the room at large, but kept her expressive eyes trained only on her youngest daughter. Rose, who had been in the process of threading a silver ribbon through her hair, knocked a brush off the dresser with a sharp motion of her right elbow. "Oh, how clumsy I am," she muttered, bending down low on the bench to retrieve it, her thick hair flying down to cover her face. But when she straightened, and her small visage reemerged from the curls, there was nothing in her expression to feed even the most discerning mother's suspicions. "How nice," she said merely. "I was sure he'd forgotten all about us. It's been over two years since we left Galveston, and he hasn't been by once."

"I'm sure he's been busy," admonished her kindly elder sister.

Charlotte's blue eyes sparkled with interest. "Oh! What exciting news! An unmarried young man coming to visit? To your house? And he will stay over Christmas? How amusing it will be!"

"Not so young," smirked Rose. "I think he must be thirty-four, or thereabouts. Probably suffering from rheumatism and creaking bones. And you don't want him to offer for you, Charlotte. Besides being quite ineligible, he's got a dreadful temper, and still carries a torch for a girl from his past."

"But what does he _look _like?" Charlotte asked, keeping her mind firmly trained on the essentials.

"Oh, he's _very_ handsome," said Ella quickly. "And I don't know why you say he has a bad temper, Rose! Remember how kind he was to Wade, and how polite he always was to us when we were growing up! Even when he wasn't speaking to father, he always made a point of seeing us when he could."

Charlotte clapped her hands together. "_Handsome_, is he? I shall be happy to see him, then."

"Suit yourself," shrugged Rose. "And open a window, Cherry. I don't care how cold it is. The stuffiness in this room is becoming excruciating."

Ella, who had a fear of drafts, opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again when she caught the mutinous light in her sister's eyes. "Rose was born by the sea," she said by the way of an explanation to their cousin. "When we still shared a room, she would make me keep the window open all night, no matter how cold it was. I had to have an extra blanket on most nights. How happy I was to learn Chase preferred warmth just like I do!"

After taking in a deep breath of the fresh air, Rose said more gently, "I have no doubt you and Chase are famously suited for each other. Mother …..your dress is fine, but do allow a curl to fall around your cheek, like _that_. It softens your jaw-line." Scarlett, who was used to her daughter's ways, stood patiently still while Rose coaxed a small strand of hair out of its bun.

Rose then took a final look around, eying her family members critically one last time. Then she nodded. "We are ready, now."

~~oo~~

Downstairs, they found Rose's father, Ella's husband, and Charlotte's parents already assembled in the drawing room. Rosemary Thornton turned when they entered, and gave an audible gasp when she saw her daughter.

"I am _all_ astonishment, my dearest Rose! Scarlett, I will have my daughter dress here for the rest of the Season. I declare - she looks almost _pretty._" It was fortunate that Charlotte, hardened by years of insults to her appearance, took no offense. "Rose, you look like an angel," her aunt continued. "It remains a mystery how you could produce child with such good taste, Scarlett. However," she continued magnanimously, "I must say that green frock becomes you very well indeed. Shall we go?"

Chase shook his head. "Can you believe mother?" he laughed, displaying the infallible good temper that distinguished the younger members of his family. "Abuses us all like thugs! If it isn't Charlotte's looks, it's my social skills, or lack thereof." Like many people of shy temperament, he was as at ease with his intimates as he was tongue-tied around strangers.

Rose, casting about for someone to share the irony of the moment, involuntarily caught her father's gaze. Her small mouth twisted slightly, and she caught the sardonic gleam in his eyes. Suddenly, the evening seemed brighter.

With all the ladies assembled, their menfolk, who had been sharing a cigar and brandy while they waited, took their arms to escort them into the carriages.

As the horses trotted down the gas-lit streets, it was impossible to miss the many damaged buildings that had resulted from the savage earthquake that had decimated the city five years ago and killed, it was said, almost two thousand people. Poverty still reigned in many quarters, and the stranglehold of the recession had barely eased over the last few decades. However, the pleasure parties were still as lavish, and the champagne still as abundant, as it had been even during the height of the war. Charleston rightly prided itself on its social life, and the Society of St. Cecilia, which had started out as an endeavor to promote musical arts, once again hosted three annual débutante balls at Hibernion hall. But though arguably the most prestigious, its balls counted for only a few of the many gaieties the city's social season offered to its elite.

Tonight, the carriages that had been dispensed from Charleston's fashionable districts were headed toward the Bromford Mansion, one of the few residences that could still boast an undamaged private ballroom. It was built in the charming Jeffersonian style of a happier age, where the luxury of closing up a room for most of the year was more commonplace, if not expected. But the war, and the recession, had left their mark even on the most fortunate - the chairs were now rented for the evening, as was the red carpet that had been rolled out - and several families, including the Butlers, had sent boxes full of glassware several days before the ball to be used by the hostess at the reception.

Under the light of the many chandeliers of the opulent, spacious ballroom, such minor details were forgotten. They had been escorted through several adjacent drawing rooms, and a servant had stood by to take their coats, revealing the beauty of the ladies' gowns, and the elegance of the gentlemen's evening suits.

Their hostess, Mrs. Cordelia Bromford, met them in the company of her husband and eldest daughter. "So delighted to see Rose," she chirped, with real warmth, for the success of the evening was now ensured. "And you look uncommonly well tonight, Charlotte," she added, with what she believed to be affability. "We will have quite a large crowd! Serena has the dance cards, and will bring them by shortly."

Mrs. Bromford, like several others of the fashionable hostesses, filled the dance-cards of the débutantes in advance of the ball, guided by principles only known to herself, and the select others whom she consulted.

"I wonder who they'll pair us with," whispered Charlotte, with barely suppressed excitement.

Rose shrugged her small shoulders. "I'm sure I won't be able to avoid Anthony Stratton. I've started to suspect him of _bribing_ people to give him my last dance. It's happened too often to be the product of chance. As for the rest – one man is as good as another, as long as they don't tread on your feet." Only her father, perhaps, would have been able to catch the lie, and he was thankfully not within earshot.

In those few minutes she had to gather herself, before both the eligible and ineligible members of Charleston's bachelors would descend on her, her gaze briefly swept around the room. Her older sister, never fond of dancing, seemed relieved that matrimony permitted her to stand and chat with the other married ladies. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed as eager to dance as any débutante, pulling at her husband's sleeve with impatience.

Her uncle Charles, a gentleman of sedate habits, was standing in the back of the room with other gentlemen of similar persuasion. Rose tried to remember if she had ever seen him dance, but failed to recall an occasion. His mind was as inflexible as his feet, and although he was neither unintelligent, nor uninformed, he had a dogged sense of propriety, and an unwillingness to step outside what he had always thought, that took the place of both shortcomings. His sister Rosemary, whose mind and habits were not as sedentary, also rarely ventured onto the floor. She could be found standing with a group of matrons, the crème of the _Ton_, agreeably engaged in eying the young ladies with a critical manner.

Wade and his wife were not in attendance, having welcomed their latest child into their family only a few weeks before.

"Rose," called the young man who had found an excuse to beat a path to her side faster than his rivals. "We're together for the second dance! I begged for the first, but Mrs. Bromford has given it to StJohn of course, damned be his impudence for making the most of his home turf. And you simply must come to Mother's reception next week. She's hired a soprano to sing, and I know how much you enjoy music."

She murmured the appropriate response, but her mind remained curiously preoccupied by the news her mother had given them. She was nonetheless soon surrounded by a group of his peers, all good cheer and joviality, doing their best to engage her attention. Several young women joined the group as well, partially for the company of the gentlemen, and partially for Rose's own sake- she was well-liked by the other girls, despite being a favorite with the gentlemen, and always had great patience for questions about attire, and the latest models from Paris.

The dance separated Charlotte and herself for the next hour, and Rose found it unusually difficult to focus on the figures.

"Your head is in the clouds today, my lovely Rose," drawled her current partner, himself a scion of one of South Carolina's oldest families. "Dare I hope it is myself you are thinking of so intently?"

"I never think_ intently_, if I can avoid it," she replied, with a charming mixture of archness and good humor. "Ideas are like horses - you must turn your back to them to attract their attention. But yes, I have been distracted. It is so stuffy here! Perhaps a glass of punch would revive me."

Having thus made him useful, she turned around - almost bumping into a tall blond gentleman she had never seen before. A quick upwards glance estimated him to be about Wade's age, with grey eyes and a pale handsomeness that ran somewhat contrary to the current fashion. His eyes widened at her beauty, and the initial annoyance was wiped from his face as if by magic.

"Hullu! I don't think we've met. Not that I would have, since I've been in town only since yesterday. And I mean, I'm _sure_ we haven't met, because of course I would remember you." He smiled winningly. "Listen to me babbling. My tongue always trips in the presence of beauty, which I'm sure is why I'm still unmarried. I'm Beau Wilkes. Who did I have the pleasure of almost knocking over?"

His name tolled like an ominous bell from the past. "Rose Butler," she replied, with measured tone. "_You_ are Ashley Wilkes' son."

"And _you_ are Aunt Scarlett's daughter," he replied, with a wide grin. "I should have known at once, except it's been so long since I've seen her. Almost two decades - how that makes me feel old! How capital to run into you here. Is Aunt Scarlett around as well? I'd love to catch up." He smiled at her again. "Is my name on your dance card, by any chance?" When she shook her head, he laughed. "It figures. I'm sure they wouldn't give such a prize away to foreigners. Will you escort me to your mother, and come back and see me when you're on break? After having met you, I can't bear the thought of dancing with any other young lady."

"You will still need to dance with the girls whose cards you are on," she replied, gravely, but her eyes were laughing. He was charming in his own way, and she was fairly certain he knew it.

"Alas – you are right. But it what once seemed a pleasure, is now... a burden!"

She said no more, but pointed out her mother, who was still engaged on the dance-floor with her husband. Rose watched them whirl around the floor for a few moments, her keen sense of harmony pleased by her mother's light-footed stride, and her father's easy grace.

"You may wait for her here," she told her companion, who stared at her in mock despair when she told him she must now leave him.

"But …. I've only just gotten to know you! I'm not sure my heart can take your leaving me so soon. In fact, I can feel a faintness coming on as we speak. " He put his hand to his chest, and many an established actor would have envied him the dramatic flair, as well as the fair features.

She shook her head at him, a faint smile gracing her lips. Those most familiar with the Butler family history would have seen her father's crescents on her mother's brow

Only a moment later, she was lost in the crowd.


	2. Shadows

_Merry Christmas to everyone, and thank you for the thoughtful reviews. Hat tip to those of you who caught the bow to Jane Austen's incomparable style in the opening paragraph, and the nod to "Downton Abbey" in the name of one of Rose's Suitors. _

_This chapter has been tweaked, and will be tweaked further - because in retrospect, it was too much a stylistic break with the rest of the story._

* * *

It will surprise no one that Mr. Beauregard Wilkes called at the Butler residence the very next morning.

At twenty-seven, he was a young man still, immune to the after-effects of a long night's dancing, especially when inspired by as lovely a vision as he had encountered the night before. But Rose, he was informed by James, the Butler's formidable maître domus, had risen even earlier, and could be found taking her morning ride in the Park.

He turned his horse back around, with every intention of following her.

~~oo~~

Scarlett had been full of the encounter on the ride back.

"Just think that Beau and Ashley are back in town! You won't remember that they moved to Boston, Rose, not long after we left for Texas. After all, _you_ have never met them. But our families used to be very well acquainted! Beau says both his father and he are in the banking business, now." She shook her head, a reminiscent gleam in her eyes. "Apparently, they ...have been doing very well for themselves."

Rose smiled noncommittally, leaning back against the soft fabric of the carriage. Only the slight flutter of her eyelashes betrayed that she knew this to be more than ideal chatter. Her mother had, whether from modesty or embarrassment, never disclosed the more salient details of her somewhat volatile past to her youngest daughter. But Rose had always had a way of knowing things without being told, of weaving little snippets of information into a coherent whole, that defied logical understanding, or the science of men.

For a brief moment, she now regarded her father with speculative eyes. He looked down at her, and she saw a kaleidoscope of subtle emotions pass over his face, fed by springs reaching decades into the past. Unlike most other people who had had the fortune - or sometimes, the_ misfortune_ - to run across Rhett Butler in their life-time, she could see through his masks with ease.

Her mother, who did not share his blood, continued her reminiscences with unbroken animation. "To be sure I was happy to see Beau – how much he's grown! – but I could honestly do without ever seeing Ashley Wilkes again. A more wooden-headed ninny you'll never have occasion to meet, Rose. Now that Beau has run into us, we can't in all politeness avoid Ashley, should he decide to come 'round. But I, for one, will attempt not to be home if he calls!"

There was undeniable sincerity in her tone, and something tense in Rhett's frame relaxed. Rose glanced at him again. She had been in love, but she had not yet been jealous, and she studied the unfamiliar emotion with the avidity of an entomologist pouring over a particularly fascinating species of beetle.

"Beau, at any rate, is sure to come 'round! You must have made quite an impression, Rose. He wouldn't stop asking questions about you." Scarlett regarded her daughter fondly. The young girl was the image of what she herself had been like at sixteen.

"What did _you_ think of Beau, Rose?" Rhett drawled, with suddenly resurfaced amusement.

His daughter laughed. "He said he feels _faint_ when left alone, and his tongue becomes tied up in the face of beauty."

"Oh Rose," chided her mother. "Those are just the kind of things men say to a pretty girl! You should pay it no mind. My beaux used to tell me the most _outrageous_ things when I was a Belle!" Her reminiscent smile conjured them up again, the long-lost Tarleton boys, the swarthy Fontaines, Cade Calvert, Charles Hamilton….how young they had all been!

"I've learned that when a man tells you who he is –believe him," said Rose. "In most cases it turns out to be true, and if it isn't it might as well be, for he will attempt shape himself after his own narrative." Seeing the abstraction utterly lost on her mother, she expanded, a hint of deviltry touching her mouth. "I saw no harm in him, aside from what he accuses himself of - except for a certain carelessness with his charm that may, at times, do as much damage as willful intent to do ill."

Her father made a sound that could have been a cough. After all, the night had become damp and foggy.

"Rose!" admonished her mother, somewhat scandalized at this representation of the sweet little boy she remembered bouncing on her knees, almost half a lifetime ago. "Beau was always...the best-behaved little boy in all of Atlanta!"

Again, the slightly mischievous smile. "He's just a little bit too old to be as taken by my looks as he professes himself to be, and a little bit too handsome to believe himself without the power to do mischief. But I will not mind seeing him again. Which I have no doubt I shall."

Her mother, who had never been careful with _her_ charm, shook her head firmly. "You have nothing to worry about, Rose, darling. As I've said, he seems like he's grown into a very _nice_ boy - very open and friendly, just like his mother. You've never met Beau's mother Melly, for she died before you were born, but she was the most-loved woman in Atlanta, and a veritable _Saint_. It isn't surprising that Ashley had never remarried, for who could compare to her?"

A glance at her father showed her that her parents were once more in complete agreement, at least with regards to the late Mrs. Wilkes. She encouraged her mother to expand on the topic of her one-time sister-in-law, for talking about her seemed to give both parents pleasure. As she listened, Rose added details to the portrait of Melanie Wilkes she had already formed in her mind, which would in time crystalize into a remarkably accurate likeness. She also added new colors to her mental portrait of the small house on Ivy Street, and to her mother's erstwhile admirer, the enigmatic Ashley Wilkes.

"It appears they still lives with Ashley's sister," her mother continued. "India ...well..._India_ never married either, and it seems they get on quite well together."

"How nice," said Rose, noncommittally, but her ears were pricked. India Wilkes. Talking about her made her mother feel guilty, even after all these years. She could hear it. It was the same tone she used when talking about her sister, Suellen. Rose wondered about the late Stuart Tarleton, and the equally late Frank Kennedy, and what they had _really_ been like.

Her inner picture of Ashley Wilkes remained somewhat hazy. Having now met the son, she tried to imagine her vibrant mother obsessed with an older, even less worldly, version of Beau, and shook her head.

Her father lifted his heavy lids, and gave her a smirk. _Yes, _those black eyes said._ Me, either._

~~oo~~

Beau caught up with her with effort, for the dark grey gelding was fast, and beautifully trained. His gait was as soft and smooth as water, and Beau pulled in his own horse for a moment to admire both steed and rider. A young stable boy, on a more commonplace Saddle horse, followed her at a short distance. She rode well, even gracefully, but her movements were deliberate, and not instinctual. His mind groped for an analogy, and he thought of a piano player who had learned his instrument just a little bit too late in life.

He did not recall that she had danced the same way - gracefully, but as if each separate movement had been practiced, and later pieced together. When she merely walked, and forgot herself, she had the gawkiness of a young filly.

"Hullo," he called, galloping up to her, momentarily diverted from the pursuit of romance. "What kind of horse is that?"

She smiled. "A Puerto Rican _Paso Fino_. His name is Shadow."

"Never heard of the breed before."

"No one has," she replied. "It doesn't exist here in the United States. My father had them imported from Puerto Rico under great difficulties, when it became clear that we would insist on riding at some point. Their gait is peerless, and they never jostle you. My sister …. you will have heard. He also insisted that I learn to ride astride."

He sobered. In his interest with the horse, he had failed to notice she was indeed eschewing the traditional side saddle, and that what had looked like a skirt was actually a ballooning pair of trousers she had pulled up half-way to the top of the saddle.

"Interesting dress."

"It's essentially a modified bicycle attire," she replied. "_Turkish trousers_, they are called. They work very well for the purpose."

"But don't the knees …"

"A pair of leather breeches, beneath the trousers." She didn't blush, and he had the decency not to laugh.

"Very ingenious. But don't the busybodies wag their tongues at you? In Atlanta, you'd probably never hear the end of it," he teased, trying to lighten the suddenly sober mood.

"Oh no," she said gravely. "They are very sympathetic to my family's fears of losing yet another daughter to a fatal riding accident. One may flaunt convention from time to time without repercussion, my father says, as long as one makes clear one does so for a good reason – and that reason not being simply to annoy."

He looked at her oddly. He'd been old enough when they left Atlanta to remember Rhett Butler both in person, and by reputation – and this sounded like a different man. He didn't comment, however.

"I remember your sister," he said suddenly. "Terribly sad thing, that. Your father took it very hard."

"So I've heard." Something about her face told him it would be unwise to pursue this topic much further.

"Have you been here long?" he asked, instead. "My father told me you were living in Texas."

"About two years." A sudden wave of homesickness swept over her. At times, it seemed like it was another person entirely, who was going to balls, accepting proposals and compliments, and attending placidly to the social conventions of Charleston. She steeled herself, remembering the distant look in Thad's eyes when they had said good-bye. And the fact that he had never written her, except for the briefest of notes.

She turned the conversation suddenly, asking Beau about _his_ father, and his life in Boston.

"I still live with my father," he said, unapologetically. "Thought about striking out on my own, but never saw a reason to. Father and I get along famously, and I'm all he has, aside from my aunt India." He smiled at her, very proud of his nearest connections. "Father is the nicest fellow ...you would like him. And Aunt India can be a bit of a mother hen, but she loves us dearly."

Rose did not wonder at such an arrangement. Widowed parents and unmarried children, or relatives, often shared house-holds in the South.

"I understand perfectly," she said softly. "It is important to spend as much time as possible with one's family. One never knows ...how long they will be around."

He wondered if she was talking about the sister she had never known. Indeed, from what little he remembered of Bonnie, they shared a remarkable resemblance, and he told himself they would have been very close. He watched her light frame out of the corner of his eye. There was something _ethereal_ about Rose, as if she were not quite of this world. But the romantic young man decided there was also a hidden pain in her blue eyes - as if she were guarding a secret grief.

Being a Wilkes, and a Hamilton, he tested her education. He tossed her Byron, and Shakespeare, and Donne, and she tossed them all back with eloquence, but when he asked her her favorite poem, she smiled, as if her mind were elsewhere, and she were answering at random. "Sonnets from the Portuguese."

"Which one?"

"The sixth."

"Ah, yes!" he cried, eager to demonstrate his memory, and his taste. "One of my favorites." He quoted, softly:

_Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand_  
_Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore_  
_Alone upon the threshold of my door_  
_Of individual life, I shall command_  
_The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand_  
_Serenely in the sunshine as before,_  
_Without the sense of that which I forbore-_

_Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land_  
_Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine_  
_With pulses that beat double. What I do_  
_And what I dream include thee, as the wine_  
_Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue_  
_God for myself, He hears that name of thine,_  
_And sees within my eyes the tears of two.*_

He glanced at her again, wondering if it reminded her of her sister, and attempted, albeit incorrectly, to connect the poem with the name of her horse, and with Bonnie. He was left with the after-taste of tragedy, and like with most young men, it heightened his attraction to her. If there is one thing even more taking than Beauty, is Beauty tinged with Sadness.

He left her in front of her home after an hour, more determined than ever to see much more of her in the future.

* * *

*Elizabeth Barret Browning. What we read, when we're sixteen, and in love.


	3. Vanities

Half a city away, a tall, blonde gentleman in his early fifties was enjoying his morning tea and his daily paper. He had rushed over the obligatory political columns, and was leaning back to read what interested him most, the literature and art criticism. There'd been a production of Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ in New York. Perhaps one could stop there on the way home and catch a performance?

He had left his sister India behind in Boston, and the unfamiliar freedom from female surveillance made him feel rejuvenated and dashing, and willing to consider even _impromptu trips_. Life was good.

He heard the sound of a door opening, and closing, and of a coat and hat being hung up.

"Beau," he called, pleasantly. "How was the ride?"

His son walked in. He was a beautiful specimen of manhood in his elegant riding clothes, all muscles and nerves and sinews, his youthful virility unconsciously mocking the pastel elegance of the tearoom. His father regarded him fondly.

"Have some tea, my boy."

"You'll never believe whom I met."

"Who?" Ashley didn't even attempt to speculate. In one way or another, they were related to almost everyone in the South, even in Charleston.

"Rose Butler." He lifted his chin to stare at his father, and there was a slightly martial light in his eyes.

"Ah." Ashley took the delicate rose-print tea-cup to his lips, his slender fingers tightening imperceptibly around the handle. He drank a long, deep sip of the amber liquid.

"I thought I'd told you not to pursue the relationship."

"You told me. However, I chose to pursue it regardless." He made a playful half-circle in the air with his riding crop, like a fencer posed for a strike.

"Beau, you don't know …."

"I know _all about_ our slightly colorful family history, and how it … intersects….with the Butlers. You forget I was ten years old when they left town. And Aunt India wasn't very fond of Aunt Scarlett at the time, and used to mutter a lot under her breath." He grinned at the memory, but moved forward resolutely. "I didn't believe half of it then, and I believe it even less now."

Ashley shook his head slowly and set the cup down on a tray. "No, I don't mean that. Of course the rumors about …..those rumors were nonsense. But there was a lot of talk, and a lot of hurt feelings, that we don't need to stir up again. The gossip has calmed down. They've moved on with their lives, and so have we." He shook his fair hair, so light that it was impossible to tell if it was gold or silver. "Sometimes it's best to leave the past in the past."

"I mean to see more of Rose." Said calmly and optimistically, and with triumphant disregard of things that did not concern him personally, as only a young man in his twenties can. When he wasn't trying to impress, Beau was even more charming, and there was steel in him that his father couldn't help but admire.

"Yes, I understand you're quite taken with her. But there are many pretty girls …"

But then he sighed, suddenly resigning himself to the inevitable. "If you're really serious about this, I will call on the Butlers this afternoon."

"Thank you, father." There was genuine gratitude in his face, which told his father more than he wanted to know.

~~oo~~

"And then," said Scarlett, arranging herself on the pillow, "he became _quiet."_

They had long ago resumed their comfortable discussions in bed, with Rhett's cigar often burning for hours in the darkness, before they fell asleep, or moved on to those interesting activities that are not the concern of this narrator. They talked about their day, the family, business, the children, the _on-dits_ in the city. Despite over two decades of marriage, they had never run out of things to say.

"That is indeed unusual," her husband teased, "since we all know the honorable Ashley to be a veritable chatterbox…"

"Oh, do be serious," she chided. "I tell you, it _was_ the oddest thing! The visit started off nicely, and I thought he wanted to let bygones be bygones, and we could all be friends now, especially with Beau being so interested in Rose. We had tea, and talked about Texas, and Boston, in the most friendly way! But then Rose walked in, looking like a vision the new tea gown that arrived yesterday – do you remember? the white _Velours frappé_ dress with the embroidered flowers? - and the minute he clapped his eyes on her he became, well, _quiet_. And rather pale! Do you think he doesn't approve of Beau courting Rose? But then why was he so friendly before?…..and really, who _wouldn't_ approve of Rose? She behaved beautifully too, and talked to him about dull books, and the Opera and such things, trying to draw him out, but he just became even more morose!"

Her husband grinned. "Perhaps he liked her. Now _that_ would be a most interesting complication …"

"Liked her? Do you mean …..oh!" Rhett cocked his head to watch the parade of emotions across her expressive face, the most prominent of which turned out to be indignation. "But Ashley was one of _my_ beaux!"

The infelicity of this remark dawned on her immediately afterwards, but to her considerable relief, her husband only laughed.

"Yes, I know. One of the trials of getting older, I'm afraid – being eclipsed by our own children when it comes to attention from the opposite sex. I have the same experience when I go about town with Wade. The young ladies turn their head when he walks past, and see right through_ me_."

"I don't believe you," Scarlett pouted. "You're still as attractive as ever, Rhett Butler, and the bit of grey at your temples just makes you look more distinguished!" She looked at him critically in the candlelight, and nodded, finding her opinion confirmed once more. "It's not fair that age will often improve a man's appearance, but seldom a woman's."

"You don't need to worry," he smiled, and she could feel the warmth in his eyes. "You're just as beautiful as the sixteen year old girl I fell in love with at the barbecue. Even more so, because I now have you at my mercy, and am able to get a much …. _closer_ look." An arm snaked around her waist, and she giggled as he pulled her to him to kiss her red lips.

A little while later, she returned to the original topic of their conversation.

"But do you really think that Ashley…"

"Who knows? Falling in love at first sight with a sixteen year old girl seems rather ingenious even for our friend Mr. Wilkes, but he's never been the most practical of men. But you needn't worry – Rose has a good head on her shoulder, and I presume she rather prefers the son." He reached over to the lamp on the wall, turning it down.

"One should hope so," Scarlett said, snuggling under the covers. "Or I mean ….it would be dreadfully complicated if she did marry Beau. We'd have to deal with all the Old Cats from Atlanta again, and …. " She sighed.

Rhett laughed. "I don't see it happening. You're forgetting Thad."

"Thad? You're out of your mind, Rhett Bulter, thinking that she still holds a torch for him. She never even mentions his name! And Thad has never treated her as anything other than a little sister."

He grinned. "She was barely fourteen when we left. How else was he supposed to treat her? Now, on the other hand…oww!" She had elbowed him firmly in his side in indignation. He caught her hand, pinned her down, and tickled her until she pealed with laughter. She finally begged for his mercy, catching her breath.

Then she giggled again. "Oh, but wouldn't it be too funny if Ashley challenged Beau to a duel over Rose?"

"Dueling is no longer legal in Charleston," her husband laughed. "Hasn't been for a few years, not that it dissuades those fools that wish to make a statement. But I wish now I hadn't turned off the lamp, so I could see how the idea of a good fight makes your eyes sparkle. It is quite becoming, as you probably know."

"Fiddle-dee-dee," said Scarlett, whose vanity was still slightly lacerated by the thought of losing even a long discarded former beau to her youngest daughter. But Rhett was being so nice about it, she thought sleepily, that one _almost_ doesn't mind it. She drifted off with his arm around her shoulder, holding her close.

He stayed awake a little longer, blowing smoke-rings into the dark, which slowly dissolved into the shadows. His fist curled suddenly under the coverlet, and the full lips smirked, as if seeing it descending on a particular set of pearly white teeth in his mind's eye.

~~oo~~

"You've become very tiresome," complained Charlotte, curled up on the settee in a corner of Rose's room in a becoming claret-colored walking dress. "If you're not out riding with one member of that tedious Wilkes family, you're having tea with _two_ of them. And one of them has nothing to talk about but books, books, books! It's enough to pitch a girl into a fit of the dismals. I don't mean to say they're not very kind in always asking me along, but it's so obvious they couldn't care a fig about me, and just want me as a Chaperone. Not that I'm not _used _to it by now." She flung herself back on the cushions. She had some theatrical talent, and every line of her body suggested ill-usage.

Rose laughed, spun around, and fiercely embraced her cousin. "You're quite right. I've used you abominably ….. and them, too, as a way to make time pass more quickly. There are such few things to do during the daytime without giving the wrong impression."

"Without giving the _wrong impression_?" Charlotte grumbled. "I'd be surprised if that Beau fellow doesn't believe you two are practically _engaged_. And I'm not sure about the other one, the father. Ashley Wilkes. He never has two words to rub together when you're there, except when we're talking about those _books_, but he stares at you in the oddest way. I can't make out whether he likes you, or if he's simply going along with his son's wishes, but would rather be elsewhere.

Rose laughed gaily. "But you see, they're only here for a few months! Then they will go back to Boston, and all will be well." She felt a brief frisson of guilt, a gut feeling that for the first time in her life, one or two of her threads were on the verge of slipping out of her control. She shoved the thought resolutely aside.

"That's what you think," muttered Charlotte darkly. "And why are you trying to _pass time_ anyways?" She had just enough quickness in her to be disconcerting whenever Rose was not paying attention.

"Oh! Nothing in particular. I just can't wait for this dismal weather to pass, and Spring to come 'round again. Shall we do your hair? The Bromfords and the Strattons are expecting us all at the opera later."

They were distracted by a sudden burst of voices below, and the high-pitched wail of an infant. "Wade!" shrieked Rose, grateful for the distraction, almost knocking over a small chair in her rush to the door. She flew down the stairs into the waiting arms of a handsome, brown-haired gentleman in a grey walking suit. His black hat and overcoat, which he was in the process of handing to James, dripped with water. Charlotte had followed behind, much more sedately, but almost equally delighted. Wade was a universal favorite.

"Slowly, my dear," he admonished, laughing, detangling himself from his sister's forceful embrace. "I'm half-drowned from this dratted rain, and I don't want you getting your pretty dress wet." He had closed his soggy umbrella, which had shielded his wife and infant daughter, and now created rivulets of rain water on the floor of the entryway. A maidservant carried a sturdy toddler with huge brown eyes.

Peregrine and Daniel, arriving from who knows which corner of the house and attracted to novelty like blood hounds, danced around them. "Wade Wade Wade Wade!" they chanted.

"Silence, you beasts! Let a fellow settle down first." He hugged them both, swatting them lightly on their backs. He looked every bit what he was – a young, handsome lawyer with a very successful practice.

His lady, a pretty brunette with blue-green eyes, had also been relieved of her shoes and overcoat, and handed a pair of dry slippers.

"Now that I have two of my own the noise level here seems quite natural," she laughed. Phoebe Walker Hamilton was young, but quite self-assured, as one would expect of the wife of Scarlett's oldest son. Her firm, thin mouth suggested she could be domineering if provoked. She handed the infant she was carrying to Charlotte, who took her into the drawing room to coo over her.

Rose, who was not maternal, had merely petted the baby lightly on the capped head, and congratulated the parents. She then turned to the toddler, and the young maid holding him. "Gerry is upstairs in the playroom, Annie, if you want to take Chuck." The little boy's face lit up. Gerald was his favorite playmate.

His parents seemed not unhappy to have a few quiet moments to settle in. James and the two other menservants, who had descended back out into the rain, arrived with more luggage. Rose directed them to take to the blue guest room. She rang for tea, and smiled warmly at Prissy when she came in with the tray.

"Thank you, Prissy. We'll be all right on our own now. Please go home to nurse the baby." Prissy's second child, a boy named Jim, had come down with a cold they feared was pneumonia.

"Thank you Miz Rose," the older woman replied. Frequent motherhood hadn't helped her figure, but her face was still round and cheerful, when it wasn't contracted with worry as today.

"Take Cherry too – she might be able to help. Charlotte and I can dress without her tonight. Peregrine, Daniel … if you want to stay here, you need to sit quietly. No jumping on the chairs. Remember you're not five years old anymore."

"Thank you Miz Rose, but Ah'd rather Cherry stay heah with you. Ah don' won 'er catchin' what Jim's got."

"I understand." Rose nodded graciously. "Let us know if there's anything we can do."

"You're a good girl," Wade said approvingly, after Prissy had left. "Mother still at the Stratton's? Her social life would spin my head. And I assume Dad's out as well." He shook his head with obvious fondness. Unlike Ella, Wade had not wanted to be formally adopted and carry the Butler name out of respect for his birth father, but Rhett had become "Dad" to him just the same. "And I hear Ashley and Beau Wilkes are in town." He turned to Charlotte. "I went to Harvard with Beau Wilkes. He's dropped off his card at our place, but I haven't been able to return the visit, what with the baby, and everything. But I can't wait to see him again. We're cousins, but we're also such _old_ friends."

"You may become more than that, soon," grinned Charlotte cheekily, swinging the baby in her arms as if in a cradle.

"What do you mean?"

"He's been 'round a lot. To see Rose," she clarified, when she saw his mystified expression.

"Ah. The plot thickens." He shook his head at his younger sister, who merely lifted her father's crescents back at him.

"They're from a very good family," Phoebe offered. Such things were still important in the South.

Peregrine and Daniel, who'd been listening with active interest, started chanting…. "Rose and Beau ….sitting in a tree….K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" - came the triumphant conclusion.

"Quiet," said Wade, and they immediately shushed. Wade was one of their few People That Must Not Be Disobeyed. They stayed for a few moments longer, but once they realized the older family members were determined to speak only of Dull Things, and drink Tea, they scampered off in search of more interesting pursuits.

"I can never tell which is which," Phoebe said, looking after their retreating forms. "And those Scottish kilts that boys wear nowadays make them even more impossible to tell apart. Do they still play tricks on you?"

"Oh, we could always tell them apart. They still manage to fool Uncle Henry from time to time, although I suspect he merely plays along because they enjoy it so much. Speaking of which, Wade - Uncle Henry and Aunt Emma and the others will be by tomorrow for dinner to see you and Phoebe. It'll be informal – no more than twenty people, all family."

"Not the Wilkes?" He teased.

She tossed her head. "I didn't invite them … and I certainly hope Mother didn't. Talk about creating the wrong impression!"

He regarded her thoughtfully. "Listen, Rosey - don't play with Beau. He's an awfully good sort of fellow, for all that he acts the buffoon to hide it, and I'd hate to see his heart crushed by my baby sister."

"I never play with hearts. Not_ real_ hearts, at any rate."

"I know that, Rosey. But please, promise me you'll be careful. You're the most striking thing in town, now that you're not a child anymore, and any number of fellows stand to lose their heads over you. I'd just hate for him to be hurt."

The baby, who'd had enough of being swung around by strangers, started to meow softly. Phoebe and Charlotte exchanged a brief, speaking glance as they swapped the infant.

"He may soon have competition," Charlotte announced, amongst whose list of virtues, it must be admitted, _tact_ and _discretion_ were missing. "I hear a tall, dark gentleman will be coming to stay over in a few days. Frankly, I can't wait!"

"You're having tall, dark, gentlemen stay over at the house, Rosey?" He laughed. "That sounds quite improper!"

She scowled first at her cousin, and then at her brother. "Thad is coming here for Christmas. Didn't mother tell you? She's been all a-flutter for weeks. Seems like he finally remembered he has a family. Or maybe Charleston just happens to be a convenient stopover to ….. wherever." She shrugged with elaborate disinterest, and busied herself with pouring the tea.

"Really." His eyes had become thoughtful. "That _is_ odd. I wonder if he's had a change of heart … but I'd have expected him to stay in a hotel, not here, since he's still rather prickly with Dad. One wonders …." He cast a contemplative glance at Rose.

"Well, I hope they won't argue," Phoebe laughed. "From what little we saw of him when we were still in Houston, he seems to have a bit of a temper."

Wade laughed. "Yes, he's not exactly a smooth-talker anymore. He used to be different – before that beastly thing at the house happened, and the murderer who killed his girl disappeared from jail later, and he blamed Dad for it. For a while, he even blamed _me_, for if it hadn't been for me he'd have shot the man then and there. He wasn't much older than you are now, Rosey, and he was the most charming person you could imagine before it all went down. I can't wait to see _him_ again, as well."

"He was never prickly with _me_ until about two years ago," Rose murmured. "We were ... we were _friends. _Or at least I thought so. Right up to the time we left Galveston. He'd see us all whenever father was out of town, and he'd write me and the boys sometimes, and….." she paused, looking terrifyingly young. "I tried staying in contact after we moved here, but he suddenly had nothing to say to me anymore. A scribbled line here or there, if I was lucky. It must be as they say – out of sight, out of mind."

Phoebe was regarding her with some astonishment. She started saying "but he's only ..." - before she stopped herself, her good breeding reeling her in.

Wade ignored his wife, and instead answered Rose. "No, I don't think it's that. He might have just been busy – and I know his mother was in poor health for the last few years. She's much improved now, according to _our_ mother. I take it they correspond."

The blue eyes flared with an unidentifiable sentiment. "He's probably coming to see _her_. Our mother, I mean."

Wade smiled. "Perhaps. I shall be happy to see him, whatever the reason. At any rate ….." he concluded happily, "Christmas promises to be lively!"

Of course, opinions meander and change over time, even with regards to such things as the relative value of _liveliness_. Only a few weeks later would Wade himself look back on those words, and wonder how on earth he could have been such a fool.


	4. Rain

Thank you, lovely people for the kind words – especially the guests whom I couldn't thank in person – and for your willingness to try something not entirely R&S centric. But I will admit this … I usually have a sort of theme in mind when I write something, a central "idea" around which I then build the story. (I'm sure many other people here do the same thing. ) And my central "theme" for this story was the last bit of nagging dissatisfaction with the R&S relationship as we left it in _Murder on Marietta Street_. I want him to love her wildly and incautiously again, and I couldn't get him there, then. But I _want_ to, because I think they both have it in them, now they've had plenty of time to heal. And Scarlett's waited patiently for long enough. So I'm using them all – Rose, Beau, Thad and all the others – to teach Rhett a final lesson. I hope they don't mind.

* * *

The rain had become a grey and unrelenting drizzle that covered the city like a blanket.

It was chance that Rose was alone in the house in that hour between twilight and nightfall when Thad arrived. She had contracted a slight cold during one of their many outings in the nasty weather, and had excused herself from the tea at the Mellons'. She was clad in a simple white house-dress, her wild dark curls tied back with a silver ribbon.

She looked around for a footman, then, finding none, proceeded to open the door herself. She took in his form, framed by the columns of the covered entryway. The curtain of rain behind him finished the theatrical touch.

"Hello." Her voice, normally as clear as bluebells, was husky with her cold. "Won't you come in?"

His black eyes raked over her as he passed into the hallway, and all she could think of was that he was taller and broader than she remembered. He had obviously ridden to the house instead of hiring a carriage – he was clad in black boots, a dark jacket of indeterminate color, and beige riding trousers. There wasn't a dry thread on his body.

"Rose." The voice was still the same.

She was struck by the unreality of this meeting, and as usual her practical side took over. "You're wet – did you ride all the way from the depot in this weather? Did you take your horse to the stables? Where is your luggage? Wait here and I'll have James bring you towels. There will be dry clothes as well."

He was still staring at her, obviously not interested in towels or clothes. "No, you haven't changed much," he said finally, with a hint of a smirk. "I was sure you'd look the part of the _painted doll_ I knew they're training you to be. But you sound very much ..._à la Grande Dame_. I'm sure the education has been thorough. Perhaps when you're at your leisure you could instruct me in the Charlestonian way of holding a tea-cup. We ..._back-water cousins_ can't be expected to pick up these things on our own."

Something inside of her unwound at the unprovoked cruelty, and her little mouth twisted in ways she had trained herself to forget over the last two years. "If you're lucky, I'll also instruct you in proper manners, which my _back-water cousin_ seems to have misplaced."

He laughed, but it wasn't a friendly sound. "Ah, but this is where we of low birth must depend on your ladyships' condescension. _Proper_ manners tend to be rather difficult for those of us who are commoners, or …worse. You, the lawful descendent of the Butlers and the Robilliards, must be quite in your element amongst all those Bromfords, and the Strattons, and the Mellons that your mother's letters have been full of. And I'm sure their ….._manners_ ….are delightful. " His tone adroitly turned the last few words into an insult, and she flushed.

"You never answered me," she said, suddenly, hating herself for sounding like a child. "I wrote you many times, and you never answered me."

"I might have, if you'd had anything to say. Something besides balls, and gowns, and beaux," he mocked, in an irritating false soprano.

"I thought you would be interested in my _life_," she said, her voice suddenly dark. "My mistake." She whirled around. "Mother put you in the red guestroom. Should you recover your _manners_, James might even tell you where it is." She paused, obviously searching for something to portray the fullness of her wrath. "And you can find your own damn towels!"

He watched her spring up the stairs and disappear around the curve. A large puddle had formed around him. James, who may or may not have heard all or part of the conversation, silently materialized out of the shadows of the vast interior, and offered him a towel.

"Getting water on everything around you is a bad idea, Sir."

Thad took it, and started vigorously rubbing his dark mane. "It's a poorly built house that can't take a little bit of rain."

"Yes Sir. Meaning no disrespect, Sir. But….. if it rains _often enough_ in one place, Sir, the inhabitants have been known to move on to …..sunnier climes."

Thad twisted the corner of his mouth like Rose had. "I see Charleston has turned you into quite the philosopher, my friend. Seeing as I won't drip anymore, I'd appreciate being shown to my room. My luggage should arrive soon from the station." He paused, and looked James over with a speculative gleam. "I will want to talk to you later. To….catch up."

"Yes, Sir."

~~oo~~

"Thad!" He reappeared for dinner, in proper evening attire, looking so much like a younger version of Rhett that Scarlett blinked. Her delight at having him with them was genuine, and palpable. Even throughout the tensest years there had been an unbreakable bond between them – a bond that stemmed from the months they had spent together in the Colorado mountains while Scarlett recovered from her illness. He was fiercely hugged first by her, than Wade and Ella, who had an unabashed fondness for him.

Rhett he received with a nod. "Sir."

"It's good to see you, son."

"Hardly that."

Rhett smiled, but let the comment slide. With age, perhaps, comes a desire for domestic peace that doesn't always grace our younger years, with a knowledge that some things will keep for later.

Dinner was as usual – warm, familial, noisy. Only the immediate family was present, which included Ella and Chase, and Wade and his wife Phoebe. Due to the later hour, the children had already been fed and put to bed. Ella had been delighted to see her cousin, and Chase, though shy, was perfectly amiable. The staff, who'd always been fond of Thad, put out their best effort on a short notice to make the occasion festive. There were candles, and flowers, and more courses than a family dinner usually called for. The high-backed chairs were tilted back on the Oriental carpet by the more exuberant, the food was served on the _Crown Derby_ China usually reserved for visitors, and the French Doors of the Dining Hall opened the view to the soft rain over the river, which enveloped them all in a snug cocoon. Prissy bustled about, even more cheered by the fact that her son's illness had taken a turn for better. Cherry, her daughter, serving dinner with her younger sister Hope, was all smiles.

Thad seemed to be unwinding, perhaps in spite of himself. Even Phoebe seemed to forget her reservations about Thad's parentage. They had socialized occasionally, when she and Wade were still living in Houston, but she had been much younger then, and mostly kept herself aloof. She stemmed from an adventuresome branch of an old Virginian family – Walkers had been at Jamestown, fought at Gettysburg, and, rumor had it, a Walker had even shared the imprisonment of Jefferson Davies at Fort Monroe. Phoebe had been in Houston to meet Wade, because her father believed travel to be "enriching" for young minds, and – contrary to contemporary views – travel in one's own country to be equal to, or even superior, to traveling around Europe. Her mother had given Phoebe a sense of pride in her own good breeding, and her father had passed on to her his much more useful ability to adjust herself to new ideas. Sitting next to Thad now, she did not appear to find his company displeasing, and indeed chatted quite animatedly with him on a variety of topics.

Only Rose glowered at him from the opposite side of the table, keeping her conversation resolutely to the people to her right and her left. She had taken care to dress as simply as possible, choosing a high-necked, pearl-colored _peau de soie_ gown unrelieved by lace, or flowers. Whether she wanted to avoid the label of _painted doll,_ or decided he was unworthy of dressing up for, shall remain her secret.

"Did you hear the Wilkes' are in town?" Scarlett chattered amiably. "Such a surprise! And the son – Beau – has taken quite an interest in Rose. They've been seeing each other almost _every_ day!" It wasn't quite clear what prompted her to add the last part. Perhaps nothing more than maternal pride - or a residual uneasiness about her daughter's feelings for her ineligible cousin.

Thad looked up from his soup with a strange expression in his eyes. "Ah. I've had the good luck to run into Beau Wilkes when I visited Wade in Boston, during his time at Harvard. One rarely encounters such perfect alignment between intelligence and ...life experience. You should make him talk to you at length about his European Tour, Rose. When you have...a lot of free time. Quite fascinating. He's even been to _Rome_."

"Don't be mean, Thad," Wade chided. "You never seemed displeased with Beau's conversation before. You even invited him to Texas!" His more perceptive wife swiftly kicked him under the table, and he flinched. "Oww!"

Scarlett looked confused. "What …"

"Nothing," Wade sputtered. "Frrrr….rog in my throat."

Thad got up. "You're quite right, Wade. I'm forgetting my manners –as someone else reminded me earlier today. Do carry on without me. The turtle soup is excellent as usual, Prissy -but I seem to have misplaced my appetite, as well. Please forgive me." With a graceful half-bow, he left the dining room with determined strides.

Scarlett stared after him. "Thad! This won't do at all. Rhett, do go after him, please."

Her husband shook his head. "I'm the last person who should go."

"Wade,_ you_ go, and make him come back. I have no idea what's gotten into him!"

Wade sighed. Like most men, he detested scenes. "All right."

~~oo~~

"Thad."

Thad stood by the window in the red guestroom, staring out into the rain. A low lamp outlined his silhouette.

Wade, though tall, was slightly built, and suddenly felt the chill of the Butler weight and carriage at the thought of meddling in his friend's affairs. He shrugged off the thought resolutely - he'd never been afraid of Thad before, even at gunpoint, and he wasn't going to start now.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, his tone gentler than his words.

"I shouldn't have come."

"Don't be an ass," Wade said, amiably, finding firmer ground. "You're going to come back down with me, and apologize nicely to the ladies for making a scene. And you're going to finish your dinner. Prissy made the turtle soup especially for you. Walked all over the market for it in the rain, seeing that it's out of season, and it'll break her heart if you don't appreciate it properly."

It was the eyes that washed away the last vestiges of Wade's annoyance. They were Rhett's eyes from the last terrible year in Atlanta – lifeless, and without hope.

He put out a tentative arm and laid it on the heavy shoulder. He did not know what exactly had placed that look on his cousin's face, but suspected it had something to do with his damaged relationship with Rhett. "I know this is difficult for you, and I applaud you for making an effort. It would kill mother and Rose to have you drift completely out of their lives. Now come."

There was a half-smirk, and a flash of derision, but he offered no further protests, and after a minute allowed himself to the shepherded back downstairs.

To Wade's surprise, he made his apologies to the ladies with what seemed like genuine contrition. "Cooped up too much by myself on the Ranch, now with Mother gone," Thad said, and his rueful smile made him suddenly younger, and boyish. "One acquires some odd moods. Aunt Scarlett, Ella, Mrs. Hamilton – I must depend on your kindness to overlook my boorish ways, and not allow it to spoil the pleasant evening." He took his seat again.

The ladies, only too relieved to move on from the painful scene, assured him they understood _completely_, and changed the topic as quickly as possible. Only Rose noticed that she'd not been included in the list, and her scowl darkened.

~~oo~~

After dinner, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, Scarlett turned to the newcomer.

"I've been hoping you would favor us with some music," she said, brightly, mostly out of a wish to keep him occupied. Though he'd been entirely charming throughout all the rest of the dinner, there was still an unsettled air about him.

The Steinway Grand Piano, which had moved from the Peachtree mansion to Galveston, and now to Charleston, stood invitingly open in the corner. It was a magnificent instrument, a remnant of days gone by - when Scarlett's main purpose in life had been to impress.

Thad glanced around the room, and then settled his gaze briefly on the only person he trusted to give him an accurate answer. "How badly is it out of tune?"

Rose, whom he hadn't addressed all evening, except for a most superficial greeting, tossed her curls.

"I'm not sure why you'd ask _me_, Cousin Thad," she replied airily, her voice only superficially covered with sweetness. _"Painted dolls_ understand very little of such things."

"Rose," admonished Scarlett. "You only told me yesterday that the piano tuner had been by last week. It's the humidity, you see," she said, in response to Phoebe's questioning glance. "It tends to warp the instruments quickly."

Thad nodded, and proceeded to sit himself on the bench. "What should I play?"

"Oh, play Schubert," cried Ella happily, who loved music, but did not play herself. "The _Impromptu_ in A flat major! You know the one I like!"

"Had to make it difficult for me," he laughed, good-naturedly. "Let me at least play some scales to warm up". They listened to the scales, dancing like silver fish up and down the stream. Then he stopped, flexed his fingers, and started playing in earnest.

The Impromptu No. 90/4 in A flat major was, perhaps, an infelicitous choice for select members of his attentive audience. Schubert's famous masterwork begins in _tonic minor_, giving even its opening movement an aura of sadness and despair, not entirely compensated by the outer section's tonic major conclusion. The Steinway's glass-like voice added an almost intolerable clarity to the song of lost chances, of buried hopes, of n'er-to-be.

When the central trio had ended, Rose made a soft sound, and Scarlett, who had been worried by her odd behavior all evening, cast a sharp glance at her face. There might have been the glistening of a tear on the spiky lashes, but Rose turned her head so quickly that it may have been just the way the light of the chandeliers bounced off her face.

Fortunately, the closing section moved to tonic major, singing brightly of love, and peace, and serenity - restoring the harmony of the universe once more.

The audience clapped generously, and as Scarlett had hoped, playing seemed to have drained what was left of his tension.

"I'm glad to see you've kept up with your music." Rhett said warmly, stepping next to the bench, and laying a large hand on Thad's shoulder. The young man looked up, and for once there was something in his face that wasn't anger or hostility. He was once more the fatherless boy in exile in New Orleans, who had received a piano for Christmas from his guardian when he was seven - along with lessons to learn how to play it. Over time, music became an outlet, a passion- and later, briefly, even a livelihood.

Thad shrugged, lest he seem approachable, or even grateful. "With mother gone to visit her friends, I haven't had much to do in the evening except play."

"Now some Mozart. _Rondo Alla Turca_," Rhett said, his voice gentle but firm. Thad complied, and as there was nothing remotely melancholic about the piece, or the following ones that Rhett suggested, the recital progressed without incident.

They concluded the evening in a much more relaxed atmosphere.

~~oo~~

The family all went upstairs for bed at a much later hour than usual. Thad headed off to one guest bedroom, Wade and Phoebe to the other. When he arrived at his door, Rose passed him, on her way to the back of the hallway. She stopped, staring up at him, wanting to say something about the music, ask him how he'd _really _been. But then she remembered his rudeness to her, and her small face closed. "Excuse _me_," she said, haughtily, and started walking again.

"Madame," he answered gravely. But his gaze remained glued to her back, until she reached her door.

Ten minutes later he turned to James, who had closed the door behind him, and was waiting to perform his duties as a valet.

He allowed the other man to help him out of his dinner jacket and his vest. "Have you ever... felt like a fool, James?" he asked, a real, rueful smile suddenly on his lips.

The tall black man maintained a perfectly blank expression. "Rarely, Sir."

Their friendship had deep roots – long, tense weeks in Galveston, working together to foil a murder plot.

"You wouldn't." Thad ran his hand through his thick black hair, which he wore a little longer than the current mode. He and James were both equally at home in the African American Vernacular spoken in the South, and he would have lapsed into it now - had he not understood, and respected, James' wish to keep himself fluent in other codes.

"If I may give some advice…"

"Please, don't hold back." Thad laughed, and added, "You never have."

"When it come down to it, Sir ….a real man shapes his _own_ destiny." James nodded for emphasis, and continued, "Most barriers we believe we see are only the limitations of our own hearts."

Thad laughed again, this time with derision. "An uplifting philosophy - but I've never taken you for a fool. If I ….if _you_ had ….felt an affection for someone far above your station in life, how successful do you think you'd have been?"

James allowed himself the luxury of a slightly triumphant smile. "It so happens that I do speak from experience. My in laws were not too happy with me when I started courting Prissy. You see, my father and grandfather had been field hands, and Prissy ….Prissy was a lady's maid. Most people would have said she was far above my station. But I knew I was worthwhile, even if no one else did. I found work with Mrs. Butler, and proved to them I could provide for a family. I am now the _major domus_ of a very distinguished house, and most people will say my wife didn't do so poorly after all."

Thad refused to concede the point. "It's not the same thing. Money or position haven't changed who _I_ am in the eyes of Charleston. Or, rather, who I was born to. Even if …..my former guardian had offered to formally adopt me, it wouldn't answer my purpose, because I'd be…." He sighed impatiently. "It's no use even talking about it."

"No," James agreed. "Being adopted by Mr. Rhett would indeed not answer. But indeed there are …other options."

A short, barking laugh. "_Other_ options?"

"There is _another_ gentleman – who as it happens lives only a few streets down from here. He is widowed, has no son, and his daughters are married, and far away. He has nothing in his life except the social engagements he doesn't enjoy, and a lonely house to come home to. Perhaps, were you recover some of the …charm… you have shown yourself capable of in the past ….you might find him receptive to …. filial attention." James was undeterred by the darkening frown on the other man's face. "Receptive to the point, perhaps, of giving you his name. Without simultaneously turning you into the brother of...a certain young lady."

Whatever Thad had been expecting, it hadn't been this. "You must be joking."

"Not at all," James said, his face conveying mild offense that he could be suspected of levity in such a serious matter. "I've made it my business to get to know Mr. Charles very well, and there is little he regrets more than having no son to carry on his name. You see – he is …rather competitive with his elder brother, my employer – who has _three_ sons to his name, to Mr. Charles' none."

"When hell freezes over," Thad said, with a casual tone that belied real menace.

"Then, if you'll forgive me for saying so, Sir – you do not really want the thing we have... not been talking about, as much as you think. And, if I may be so free …..you do not have much time. She's a very_ lovely_ young lady, and despite her youth has already had many offers."

Thad made an impatient gesture, clearly unwilling to pursue the topic. "Please go now."

James, who was not intimidated in the least, merely nodded regally, and left the room as silently as a ghost. He paused in the hallway, shaking his head. If every family had its curse, that of the Butlers was _pride,_ and pride seemed poised to cut through the happiness of yet another generation.

He was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding, that he tried to shrug off as he hurried home to his own much more uncomplicated, cheerful wife.


	5. Old Scores

Thank you, those of you who took the time to review and comment. You're very kind. Happy New Year to everyone. Somehow, I couldn't ring in the New Year without punching Ashley at least once. It just didn't seem right not to. Cheers!

* * *

"Well, it seems you were right again," said Scarlett to her husband, installing herself on her cushions, and reflecting on the peculiar evening they had just spent.

"At this point in your life, does that really surprise you?" he teased.

"No," she said candidly, reaching for a glass of water from the bedside table, which she drank while he lit his cigar. "But I admit I _hoped_ you were wrong, for once! At least, I hoped you were wrong about Rose. But she acted so oddly all night, not looking at him, or wanting to speak to him, that she must be in love with him! Oh, what on earth will we do?" she added, mournfully.

He looked at her with a speculative expression. "Should you mind so much, then, if he did ask for her hand?"

Scarlett sighed. "You know I like Thad. But ….." she admitted, "it does sting a little, the thought that Belle Watling and I would have mutual grandchildren!" She waited for his deep, rumbling laugh, and continued. "And …..oh, I don't even know why I'm telling you this! You'll think I'm vain and superficial. But for the first time in my life, I'm back home, and I'm… accepted. The nicest families approve of me, and what's even better, I'm actually doing everything I want! And Rose …." she hesitated, but plunged resolutely forward, " somehow, it seemed that her success was _my_ success, and I've enjoyed how the most eligible sons of the best families have been wanting nothing more than to marry my daughter. I guess," she finished sheepishly," I crave acceptance more than I thought."

He gave her a tight squeeze. " I understand. And no, you're not being vain or superficial. It's natural want acceptance, and to feel pride in one's child, and to want the best for them. We as parents just have to realize _their_ perception and our perception of their best don't always match up."

Scarlett nodded, relieved that he didn't seem to think less of her for her confession. "I might as well tell you the whole story," she said, softly. "I wasn't _just_ worried about Charles and the girls, when I told you I wasn't sure if Thad should stay here with us. I was worried about _me_. How having him here would reflect on _me,_ and what other people would think. And I'm so ashamed of myself for feeling that way, because Thad has always been such a good friend." She sighed." And _then_ of course I remembered Melly. Melly never let her own reputation stand in the way of doing the right thing. Or what she thought was the right thing. So I felt even _worse_, thinking that Melly would be disappointed in me."

He hugged her again. "I understand that, too. And I'm sure Miss Melly would understand as well. But fear not - _you,_ Madame, have the good fortune to be married to a man who plans ahead. I've greatly sharpened my skills to mitigate scandal since my wild and heady youth – when I admit inciting it was usually my goal." He smiled rakishly, chuckling with secret pleasure.

"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered.

"I mean, my love, that I haven't been idle these past few weeks. After you told me Thad would come here, I've been … making preparations. "

"I don't understand a word you're saying," she huffed.

He smirked, delighted by her evident confusion. "Amongst other things, Rosemary and I went to see Charles, who was just as tiresome as I expected, but in the end he agreed he could meet his offspring in public without making a scene. Then," he continued, with just the barest hint of self-satisfaction, "I've been to see Mrs. Sarah Jennings. All by myself. And I'm pleased to tell you that not only has she invited Thad to the ball she's giving tomorrow, but she's assured me she will fill his dance-card with girls whose mothers have been specifically instructed to make sure they treat him with respect. If he behaves like a gentleman, which I will make sure he does, she will make sure her friends invite him also."

"You convinced _Sarah Jennings_ to invite Thad?"

His self-satisfaction became even more evident. "Sometimes I even surprise myself."

"How on earth ….."

He laughed. "The Jennings have had some financial difficulties. And a daughter to be married in June."

"You mean you _bribed _…"

"Tsk Tsk," He said, shaking his head at her. "_Bribery_ is such a strong word. I personally call it _engaging in fair trade_ – her support for Thad in exchange for my support of the Jennings Export-Import company. It was less difficult than I imagined, after I casually mentioned just how rich the base-born son is. Many of the best families also have daughters – and are in financial straights. They've come to see the value of a good income just as everyone else has."

Scarlett had the good grace to laugh. "You're the devil's own son, Rhett Butler, and I'm glad I'm on your good side."

He scooted over to her. "Speaking of sides ….." he whispered, "now that I've so ingeniously solved all your problems ….don't I deserve a ….reward?"

"I didn't mean that, you conceited thing. Oh!"

And here we must let the curtain fall once more over our characters, and move the clock forward to morning.

~~oo~~

Everyone else was already seated at the breakfast table when Rose arrived. Thad looked up as she entered, bathed in the light of the morning, as if designed by a stage-master for maximum effect. Scarlett's mouth opened and then closed again when she caught sight of her daughter. Rose was wearing her riding garb, including the black "Turkish trousers" that had fascinated Beau Wilkes, but it was not _that_ garment that drew everyone's eyes. It was the jacket. Rose had chosen a black velvet riding jacket that Scarlett had never seen before, that skimmed along her hips and chest like a second skin, fully revealing and accentuating the elegant curves of her emerging womanhood. The high neckline made claims of impropriety futile, but Scarlett still swallowed uneasily, and threw a worried glance at her husband. He grinned back at her. Perhaps, he, too, was remembering that other girl almost three decades ago, who had driven to a morning barbecue in an afternoon dress that was decidedly _not the thing._

But unlike her, he seemed to find both the memory, and the present occasion, quite entertaining.

"Good morning," Rose said airily, finding her seat, her eyes challenging anyone to find fault with her attire.

"G….ggood morning," stuttered Wade, with the embarrassment most males experience when forced to remember that their mothers or sisters are _women,_ with bodies that may attract other men.

"I …didn't know you were going riding today, Rose," said Scarlett.

"The Wilkes' are coming to take me for a ride in the park," Rose replied airily, reaching for toast and butter. "Shadow is being saddled up as we speak."

"You look like a young Diana," teased her father. "All that's missing are the bow and arrow. What _game_ are you planning to hunt today, my dear?"

"She had no need for arrows. Beau Wilkes is already captured," her brother joked. He turned to Thad. "Doesn't she look pretty?"

Thad, who'd been lost in thought, looked up, and gave Rose an impudent stare. "I believe she'll get exactly the reaction she's hoping for."

Wade shook his head. "Would it kill you to give a girl a compliment? You're turning into such a curmudgeon, my friend. No wonder you're still a bachelor. Keep this up and you'll be an old man long before your time."

"Don't worry, Wade," Rose said sweetly. "I only desire compliments from people _whose opinion I value_."

"Look Rose," said Phoebe adroitly, kicking her husband under the table once more. "There's two gentlemen coming up the walkway to the house. I'm sure ... it's the Mr. Wilkes!"

~~oo~~

The two Wilkes men, whom James showed into the hallway, looked like twin gods descended from Mount Olympus to grace mere mortals. Both had always looked their best in riding attire: tall and slender, their golden hair glowing in the sunlight, and their identical grey eyes sparkling with the anticipated pleasure of riding through the winter landscape in fine weather with a lovely young woman at their side.

"Beau!" Wade said, running up to his cousin and embracing him. "It's wonderful to see you. Will you be at the Jennings' ball later tonight? Good." He turned to his other cousin, beckoning him to come closer. "And of course you know Thad. Thad, this is Beau's father, Mr. Ashley Wilkes."

The three men nodded to each other politely.

When Rose joined the group a few minutes later, cap and whip in hand, the two newcomers lit up like candles.

"Rose, you look smashing!" Beau exclaimed, with habitual directness. His father, more sedate in his expression of admiration, simply nodded his agreement.

Thad, who had been watching them, turned to look at Rose. "Yes. We're fortunate that her attire today allows us to admire her even more …. _openly_ than we usually do."

Ashley paled. "Whatever do you mean by that, Sir?"

"I meant exactly what I said."

It had been a relatively mild barb by Thad's admittedly low standards, but it worked as a red cloth might on a bull.

"You will answer to me for that remark."

That shrugged nonchalantly. "I doubt it."

Without further warning, Ashley lunged at him. Thad - two decades younger, four inches taller and quite at home in Texas bar fights - stepped adroitly aside, and let the punch dissolve into thin air. If Ashley had expected a clean, gentleman-like boxing contest, he was to learn his mistake only seconds later – a fist landed in his face, and almost simultaneously, the blade of a hand chopped his back, causing him to trip and crumple to the floor.

"Dad!" Beau, for whom everything had happened too quickly to react, only stopped to make sure his father wasn't seriously injured before turning on Thad himself. Although shorter and lighter than Thad himself, he was a much more formidable opponent, landing quite a few painful punches to Thad's chest before joining his father on the floor.

"Oh!" cried Rose, who had witnessed the entire scene with horror. "Thad – how_ could_ you?" She rushed to Beau and Ashley, who were sitting up, holding their faces. "They're bleeding! Wade – go get Prissy. Have her bring clean towels and water. Have James come too. We need to help them off the floor."

With James' and Prissy's able assistance, the two men were supplied with fresh towels and ice, and escorted to the drawing room. Rose installed them on the soft cushions of a settee, hovering about them solicitously. When no one was watching, she pressed her small hands against her cheeks repeatedly, as if to drive back their flush. They both mumbled they were fine, thank you, and there was no need to call for the doctor. Fifteen minutes later, they excused themselves from both the company and the ride, stating they would go home to bring the swelling down in time for the ball tonight.

Rhett saw them out. "I apologize for my nephew's hot temper. No hard feelings, I hope."

"None at all," Ashley said coldly. Beau shook his head mutely, but forced himself to add politely: "We hope to see you at at the ball tonight. And Rose of course."

Rhett nodded graciously, and it is quite unclear why Ashley Wilkes was nonetheless left with the nagging feeling that Rose's father had been ...enjoying himself.

~~oo~~

After they had left, Rose dashed upstairs, bursting into Thad's room without knocking. She was stopped short by the sight of him with his shirt off, the taut skin over his ribs displaying several ugly, black bruises under the dark hair.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded, her high voice almost breaking.

He shrugged with feigned disinterest. "It was they who tried to punch me. I was only defending myself."

"You could have _defended yourself_ without beating them into a bloody pulp!"

"When I really want to injure someone, they don't ride off fifteen minutes later, all limbs intact, to dress for a ball. They _stay_ down." He spoke casually, but she realized, with a shiver, that he meant it. "But I do find your concern for them very ….touching. Especially since you haven't bothered to ask me how _I _am."

She roved her eyes over the ugly bruises again, but refused to give in. "Why should I? I can _see_ that you're fine." She tossed her hair, perhaps to ward off the impulse to run a hand over his chest, and take away his pain. "And yes, they may have started it, but it wouldn't have happened at all, if _you_ hadn't insisted on insulting me!"

He dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. "I guess there's nothing more to say, then."

"I guess there isn't!"

She whirled around, soundly slamming the door behind her.

~~oo~~

Thad didn't reappear for lunch. When he didn't show up for tea, Rhett went upstairs in search of him. He was still in his room, sitting on his bed in his shirt-tails, looking as if he hadn't moved much all day. There was a brown leather suitcase in front of him, which contained a few scattered garments. It was difficult to say for the casual observer if he was packing or still unpacking.

"How are you?"

Thad shrugged. "A bit bruised, but I'll live. But thank you for asking. Since you're the only person to enquire after my welfare, I appreciate the sentiment - regardless of the source."

Rhett laughed. "Rose wasn't too sympathetic, was she? Thad, my boy, you're forgetting everything you ever knew about women. Winning a fight doesn't impress them much, no matter who started it. But be beaten up by a callus brute while defending a lady's honor, and look pathetic, bleeding from the nose … and you will have all their sympathy."

Thad snorted. "If the price is to hold still while two milky-faced toddlers attack me, I'll leave _looking pathetic_ to others."

Rhett laughed. Then, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, and his tone changed, as it had changed two years ago, speaking to Rose in the tea room in Galveston.

"I know you still haven't forgiven me for what happened with Thomas Whiting almost two decades ago. At some point, I would like to talk to you about it. If you'll allow me. Perhaps you may come to appreciate my reasoning, even if you still can't find it in your heart to forgive. But that's not important right now." He looked at his nephew with his disconcerting stare."I want you to tell me ...the real reason you came back."

Thad didn't answer, but stood up, taking a step or two into the room. After a moment or two, Rhett sighed. "It's funny how history repeats itself. I could never stay away, either. I even hung around Atlanta during the war." He shook his head in bemused reminiscence. "Atlanta! The insanity was mind-boggling." He stood up as well, and looked into the other man's eyes. They were almost at a height. "Thad. It isn't your birth that would make me uneasy, were you to ask me for the hand of my younger daughter. I do hope you know that."

Thad's naturally low voice was even huskier than usual. "I don't need your pity. Or hers."

Rhett sighed. "Sometimes I feel children are sent to us by the gods to torture us with a mirror of our own foolishness." Then he smiled again. "Now get dressed. We're leaving in about two hours."

"I'm not going anywhere. Except," he added, with a glance at the suitcase, "maybe home to Texas."

"Don't be a fool, my boy," Rhett said, amiably. "Of course you're coming. In fact, I insist. And you're going to behave like a perfect gentleman all evening, because this ball is your introduction into society, and will decide whether people feel it's worthwhile to invite you again. And you're staying for Christmas, even if I have to tie you to that bed. I'll leave you now to get dressed. But before I go down, do let me shake your hand." He took it, and pumped it vigorously, grinning at Thad's surprised expression.

"Punching Ashley Wilkes in the face was something that was long overdue in this household." He closed the door behind him, whistling a merry tune.


	6. Invisible pour les yeux

Thank you lovely people for your reviews, you are much too kind. I really appreciate each and every one of you who take the time to comment, share thoughts, and offer suggestions.

BTW, I not only have a "theme" for the story, I usually also set a stylistic goal for myself, which can sometimes vary by chapter. For this story, the overarching goal was "while flashbacks are ok, we will not be able to tell how the main characters feel in the present by any other way than what they say or do." Feel free to point out whenever you feel I fell short of that goal.

I'm right there with those who really enjoy detailed explorations of inner landscapes, but as for myself, I tend to explain too much, so I tailor-made myself this particular challenge. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The three girls had assembled in Rose's room once more, dressing up for another ball, as they had many times during the Season. Phoebe had joined them as well, after her personal maid had teased the last dark curl charmingly into place. She looked very elegant in a fur-trimmed satin gown that reflected the color of her eyes. It was the first time she would be out in company after the birth of her youngest child, and she was as giddy as the others.

„Tonight's the night I finally get to meet the dashing renegade cousin," said Charlotte, becomingly attired in a burgundy _brocade and chiffon_ gown. "I've been waiting for weeks!" Rose, ravishing in deep yellow _peau de soie_ laced with flowers, more daringly cut than her wont, cast her a _look_.

"Oh,my, he's ever so handsome, Miss Charlotte," laughed Cherry, engaged in arranging the flowers in Rose's hair. "But watch out that he don't like _me_ better'n all of you fine Misses. There's a rumor that says he's got an eye for my sort of girl."

"Cherry!" Charlotte said, scandalized. Cherry, a free-spirited, handsome young girl, merely laughed. "It's true," she insisted. "His girl that wuz killed was as black as me, they say, and _ever_ so pretty."

"That was a long time ago," said Rose witheringly. Her slender body had stiffened under Cherry's fingers.

"But they say he ain't never got over her, and that's why he's never married," Cherry insisted. "And you won't deny 'es got a dark look about 'im, like someone who's pining. Perhaps I'm the girl what can make 'im forget her!" She gave a dramatic sigh, crossing her arms over her well-rounded bosom.

"Please attend to your work," snapped Rose. Ella stared at her in astonishment. Rose was never sharp with Cherry.

Phoebe, whose eyes had been watching Rose's profile, adroitly turned the conversation back to the ball, and outward harmony was restored.

~~oo~~

The three young women descended last down the stairs, their relations already assembled. They had been spared the first, awkward moment of Charles' introduction to Thad, which Rhett had handled privately in the library. By all accounts, that had gone well enough, as Thad had surprisingly decided to present himself as bashful and charming, which - combined with his tall figure and good looks - had left a most favorable impression on Charles Butler. It must, perhaps, not be wondered at that a man with no other son would take to a young man of fine figure and excellent means, whose education and upbringing had cost him nothing. Thad's reversal was a little more puzzling, but James, going about serving brandy and cigars, looked highly gratified.

They had also missed Rosemary's first impression of the newcomer, which Wade recounted to Rose later in the evening: „It's surprising that _you _are the only one who looks like a Butler," Rosemary had told Thad. „Rhett's children all look just like Scarlett, and as for my own ... well, let us draw the curtain of charity over _that_ topic!"

"Thad," Wade said, "managed to look _embarrassed,_ which Rosemary decided was Quite Proper, Considering the Circumstances. When he wants to, he can out-perform any professional stage actor, from way back when he was working in saloons. I had the most difficult time keeping a straight face! Chase just laughed as well. He's much too kind-natured by half. But that's Aunt Rosemary for you. And Uncle Charles looked pleased with himself, which made me want to kick him, seeing that Dad did all the raising of Thad, and Charles probably never gave him a thought till tonight. At any rate, Aunt Rosemary said…."

"I'll not mind having you with our company," their aunt had said magnanimously, which, coming from her, was high praise.

When the girls had joined them, Scarlett introduced Charlotte to her nephew.

Charlotte regarded him with frank interest, but although he acknowledged her properly, he didn't seem particularly captivated. His gaze went to her cousin, and stayed stuck.

"You look beautiful, Rose," Thad said, his dark voice gliding over her name like water over pebbles.

Rose started, and then flushed. "Thank you."

"There," said Wade to the room at large. "Didn't hurt at all, did it? We'll make a ladies' man out of him yet."

Thad playfully punched him on the shoulder. "There's more to impressing ladies than flowery speeches, cousin. In Texas, the ladies only care how long you can stay on a bucking bronco. You, if I remember correctly, rarely make it past the three-second mark before you fall off most ingloriously. We will work on improving that next time you come."

"Please no, " said Phoebe. "I like him _with_ his arms and legs."

"See how much confidence my wife has in my riding skills?" Wade said painfully. "Is it my fault Thad always picks the _worst_ broncos for me, and keeps the mule-cross-breeds for himself, just so he can look good?"

„Texas. There some good hunting there?" Charles asked, perking up at the mention of horses.

"Plenty, Sir." Thad answered, respectfully. "Deer is perhaps the most popular, but there's bison and bear and coyote as well as rabbits or hogs for the boys. There's also good waterfowl and fishing grounds by the Ranch."

Hunting remained the topic for most of the carriage ride to the Jennings' house on Albert Street, and if Thad was bored he hid his sentiments most admirably.

"Whatever did you say to Thad?" Scarlett would ask her husband later that night. "He was an altered creature. I swear I imagined he would floor Charles just like he did Ashley, and what a mess that would have been!"

Her husband merely looked impish, and refused to answer.

~~oo~~

The Jennings' charming Colonial house in the fashionable part of town glowed both in old and new glory. Only Rhett knew the exact figure he himself had contributed to the festivities, but the guests were dazzled by the lushness of the carpets, the sheer number of chandeliers, both on ceiling and walls and on marble columns, and the beauty of the flower arrangements scattered all around the ornate ball room. The walls had been hung with velvet curtains, giving it an air of intimacy and luxury as a finishing touch. The refreshments were unusually good, the Champagne of the finest quality, and the numbers of Charleston's upper society that crowed around the dance floor was impressive by anyone's standards. The dance floor itself had been polished so many times that the wood shone like a mirror. "I shall be needing ice skates", Phoebe told Wade, laughing.

Sarah Jennings, who received the guests, was a sharp, elegant lady who owed her considerable clout in society not to the particular noblesse of her birth, but to the number of friendships she presided over, and favors she could call in. Very little happened in Charleston without Mrs. Jennings hand behind it, or beside it, and occasionally invisibly above it.

She had wisely chosen this ball to launch Thad into society, because it was destined to be what was vulgarly known as a "crush", where the sheer numbers would make him less conspicuous. She then filled his dance-card with the daughters of the more open-minded as well as the bribable, and the women of his own family. Rhett was pleased to approve of her choices, suggesting only one significant alteration, which she was happy to make.

Rose, studying her card with the eagerness of any young girl present that evening, found she had been paired with a number of interesting gentlemen, including Mr. Ashley Wilkes. Beau's name was absent from her card, and also from Ella's and Charlotte's, which surprised her.

The even greater surprise came at the very end, and she swallowed briefly, whether from anxiety or anger it was not clear.

"I will be dancing the third dance with our cousin," Charlotte whispered to her. Rose nodded, absentmindedly, before letting her first partner claim her for his dance.

The fifth dance, a reel, had been given to Ashley Wilkes. He strode over pleasantly, stating that his son had been called unexpectedly out of town. Rose was surprised, but did not comment. She wondered briefly if his injuries had been more disfiguring than she'd thought. Ashley's face seemed restored to normal, only a slight swelling on his nose betraying the events of the morning.

"We will miss seeing him", she answered properly. "And I hope you are feeling quite well."

"Quite," he assured her good-naturedly. "Please, don't refine upon it for a minute longer!"

"Thank you," she answered, with real gratitude. "My …cousin has a quick temper, and does not always know when other people may take what he says amiss."

Ashley nodded, and we need not, perhaps, blame him for not agreeing with her outright. The reel passed pleasantly enough, Ashley was a graceful dancer, and Rose in a mood to be pleased. He voiced regret as they separated, and she thanked him for his kindness, before turning to her next partner.

~~oo~~

The musicians played the first notes of the last waltz. Rose stood in the middle of the dance floor, undecided, when she saw him walking towards her.

When he'd reached her, she looked at him warily, and put up her chin as if bracing herself to do battle.

"I…."

"Be quiet, Rosey," Thad said, in his low, husky voice. "For once, let's not argue." She stared at him. "Come here." He held out his hand.

She took a step forward, and must have held out her own hand, for when she searched for it a minute later, she found it nestled in his. His other hand rested at the small of her back. They stood on the dance floor, couples swirling around them. Neither of them moved.

"I think we're supposed to be dancing," she said, her voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a smile.

"Are we?" he murmured. "I hadn't noticed." He drew her even closer, and bent his head, so his forehead almost touched her hair. "I'm not sure if I should. My knees feel funny."

"Mine, too," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

His hand tightened around hers, and a strange sound escaped his breast, like breath held back far too long. "God, Rose." Then he straightened. "Hold on to me." He stepped forward, gliding her into the rhythm of the Waltz, floating her like a champagne cork on the surface of the music. She leaned lightly into his right hand, giving just the slightest bit of weight, and he spun her into a series of pivots that cleared the floor around them, and inspired quite a few of the onlookers to cease their conversation and watch.

When the song ended, he led her over the floor back to her parents. They were both too wrapped up in themselves to notice that other eyes had been watching them as well.

"You danced very beautifully, Rose," said her mother fondly.

"Thank you," Rose murmured, her eyes downcast.

Thad stepped next to her, still holding her hand. "I'll go get some more punch, Rose – Scarlett? and then I'll go over to speak to my father. He's standing there alone in a corner, looking rather bored."

Scarlett stared at him, both for the use of her given name without the prefix "Aunt" that he usually attached to it, and the unexpected eagerness to engage his natural father in a conversation. She watched him walking away without letting go of her daughter's hand, watched their arms stretch between them, until he finally let it slip from his grasp. "What happened to Thad," she said, to no one in particular. "He looks two decades older. And younger, somehow."

She looked back at Rose, who was pale as death. "Oh, mother," she whispered fiercely, "why don't they tell you it feels like _this_?"

"What, dear", Scarlett asked, distractedly.

Rhett put his arm around Rose's shoulder, giving her a squeeze. There was an unexpectedly reflective look on his face. "What novel ideas you young people have," he murmured into Rose's curls, "to recognize love at the same time."

Rose's face, distraught, terrified, hopeful - turned to him, suddenly flooded with color. "Daddy. I never thought he…I believed …."

"What are you two going _on_ about?" asked Scarlett.

Thad returned, handing the two women their drinks. "Here you are." His eyes never left Rose's face, even as he excused himself to go to his father.

"I'll go talk to Mary," Rose murmured, as she herself left to go to one of her friends.

Ashley Wilkes cut her off before she reached the group of young women she was heading for on the other side of the room. "Miss Rose. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your company this evening. And our dance." He saw her pallor, and the fierce light in her blue eyes, and for a moment, his breath caught.

"Dare I hope you'll have time to go riding with me tomorrow afternoon, even without my son?"

She murmured something incomprehensible, and he mistook her confusion for assent. "You make me very happy. I will call around three, if that should be convenient to you." He bowed, and let her continue on her path.

~~oo~~

The carriage ride home was more sedate than before. It was well past 3 a.m., and even the younger generation was tired. They dropped Charles off at his home, inviting him to visit them tomorrow.

"Was quicker 'n you," Charles said. "Thad here will come see me tomorrow, we decided at the dance. Might take him down to the plantation. No hunting now, of course, but figured he might like to see it."

He hopped down the steps, smiling benignly at the company, perhaps gratified at the surprise on their faces. When the door closed and the carriage moved forward, Rhett grinned.

"Now that, I did not expect quite as quickly."

Thad raised his eyebrows back at him. "I work fast."

Both carriages stopped in front of the Butler mansion, and the tired but contented group alighted. After regrouping briefly in the drawing room, they ascended the stairs to head for bed.

"That was fun," Ella told Chase, and he nodded enthusiastically. He had been paired mostly with his wife, which suited him wonderfully, and with girls who were not the least chatty, so the evening had been a great success from his vantage point.

Wade and Phoebe checked on their infant, who was sleeping peacefully and had, the sleepy nurse said, borne their absence with fortitude.

Rhett and Scarlett still seemed thoughtful, the slightly distant look in their eyes a hint that they were, perhaps, reflecting on matters in the much more distant past than the ball. However, they said good-night to the others in perfect harmony, before closing the door to the master suite behind them.

~~oo~~

Only Rose and Thad remained in the hallway. Perhaps they had designed it that way by moving more slowly than the others. He caught her hand as she walked past him, giving her fingers the lightest of squeezes. She broke her stride, and turned to look at him. He raised his hand, and brushed his bent thumb over her cheek in a feather-light caress.

She attempted a faltering smile. "It never feels like this in books."

He laughed, his full, dusky laugh, so different from the fake one he'd been employing before tonight. "In books, no. In real life, it feels like this. Like standing in the middle of a glacier. Exposed to all winds, and unable to close your eyes against the light." Something had crept into his voice that made her shiver.

"Now go," he said softly. "I can …..barely keep myself from touching you now, and my resolve won't hold much longer. Besides," he added with the hint of a smirk, "I have a feeling your parents will be poking their heads out any minute, and I'd rather not be caught compromising their daughter in the middle of their own hallway."

She smiled at this. She had felt all the austere grandeur, but not yet the warm, familiar intimacy of love, and its sudden discovery may have eased some of her fear.

"Good night", he said. "Sweet dreams."

~~oo~~

Two hours later, alternating between flushing and shivering, she still couldn't sleep. She finally got up, slipped on her velvet wrapper, and opened her door to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Her slippers made no sound on the thick carpet as she stepped softly into the darkness.

Before she had advanced any further, she saw a door open further up in the hallway, and the tall figure of a girl slipping out. Belatedly, Rose recognized her maid Cherry, who was lightly running over the carpet with her back to Rose, towards the stairway on the other end.

There was no possibility of mistake – she had come out of Thad's room. The afternoon's conversation during the dress-up rose before her eyes in a blinding flash of light, and she had to grasp the doorframe to avoid falling.

Rose stood rooted to the spot for what seemed like an eternity, before she stepped back into her own room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

I feel the need to explain that Cherry isn't meant to be a loose girl here - simply someone raised in a culture that put less restriction on the exploration of female sexuality. A hundred years later, we will all be Cherrys ...and despite some of the inherent problems, this is a good thing. Rose, however, would probably not agree with me now, and even I cannot blame her.


	7. Mists

Again, thank you so much for your kind reviews. I promise there will be some interaction between the Butlers and their younger children soon. And maybe more pillow talk! But first, this somewhat difficult chapter, with several hidden and some obvious land mines. I hope I treaded gently. Let me know.

* * *

Rhett came downstairs shortly after seven, being in that stage of life where "sleeping in" becomes a concept finally resigned to memory. He found Rose had already risen before him, sitting on the bench in front of the dining room window, staring into the December fog that had descended upon the city.

"I thought you'd be sleeping late," he greeted her, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the tray Prissy had set out for him.

"I couldn't sleep at all."

Something about her pose gave him pause. He took his cup, and walked across the thick Persian carpet to join her.

"Is everything all right?"

She looked up, and then shrugged. "One of those sweeping questions of yours that have no answers. Is the earth still turning around the sun? I presume so. Are land and sea still in their usual place? That, too, would get an affirmative reply from me. But if you're asking if the inconsequential Rose Butler of Charleston is happy this morning, the answer would be _no_. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things."

He almost smiled. "You surprise me. After last night, I thought …."

"Don't _think_, Daddy. It only makes things worse in the end."

But he did think after all – of the meetings that wouldn't be conducted, the papers that wouldn't be signed, and the partners who would be affronted if he missed this day at the office. Yet almost to his own surprise, he said: "I feel like doing something different today. I want to go have a carriage ride in the fog. Perhaps you'll join me? We haven't been able to have one of our talks for a while now, and I rather miss them. We could use the time to catch up."

He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, she nodded. He told James to send a message to his partners, and Jim, Cherry's brother, to hitch up the closed carriage. Rose grabbed her coat and walked over the soggy ground with her father, willing to be distracted by the sights and smells of the stables while the horse was being groomed and harnessed. Rhett excused himself briefly to check on his hunters.

After feeding a handful of grain to Shadow, Rose was watching Jim. He was roughly her age, a tall, lithe, and handsome boy, who favored his father as much as his sister did. His quick movements were smooth and firm as he ran the brush over the mare's coat. She tried to see if she could look at him as Thad must have looked at Tasha, and now Cherry ….. not as a servant, or even a friend, not as a childhood playmate and companion, but as a _man_. A man who could be her lover. It was a quantum leap, all the more frightening because she found herself standing paralyzed at that abyss, unable to cross it.

When he turned to smile at her, she found herself wondering if he had ever thought of _her_ in such a way. They had grown up together, and she couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in her life in some fashion or other. Had he…

The boy caught the inquisitive look in her eyes, and with an instinct as old as time understood its meaning. He stared back at her, and for the briefest moment, his eyes flickered with the same ardent flame as those of her lighter-skinned admirers. But just as suddenly, his face changed, becoming both abashed and frightened.

Instinctively, she reached out her hand, and laid it on his arm, trying to allay some unknown fear.

He pulled back as if she had scorched him. "Excuse me," he mumbled, almost stumbling in his haste to get away. When he returned with the harness, he refused to look at her again, leaving Rose confused and embarrassed.

She stepped back inside, hiding her head in Shadow's grey mane. He tried to nuzzle her neck, and she pulled on his ears, as she usually did. The tears that had refused to flow earlier in the morning finally stung in her eyes.

"Are you ready?" her father asked. She peeked behind Shadow's neck to see the mare had already been backed between the shafts. She stepped forward, and suddenly felt awkward about holding out her hand to allow Jim to help her into the carriage. He grasped it and pulled her up, firmly and impersonally, with the face of a man for whom this, _in the grand scheme of things_, was but a minor humiliation. And she winced.

~~oo~~

Rose settled back against the cushion, and the carriage jerked forward. The winter fog had become thicker. It felt as though the world were enveloping them in a soft, white, dreamlike cocoon.

Her father was studying her, and as usual, gave her time to compose herself.

"Did you ever think you'd be doing this with Bonnie"? she asked, suddenly.

She let her eyes fly up to catch the slightest hint of a sting, of withdrawal, but caught nothing.

"Riding in a carriage thought the fog?" he asked, smiling slightly. "Not really."

She shook her head. "No. I mean …..living in Charleston. Escorting her to balls. Bringing her out in society."

He turned the matter over in his mind. "In a way I did. At least, I tried to improve my tattered standing in society when I realized how much having a renegade for a father would affect her future. But to be honest, I didn't spend a lot of energy dwelling on what would be. My years with Bonnie were a time I actually enjoyed living in the moment." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I do remember thinking I'd take her hunting in Virginia and England when she was older. I don't know where we ultimately would have ended up. Perhaps we'd have stayed in Atlanta. It's hard to say."

"Is it still hard for you?" There was just a hint of bitterness in her tone.

He shifted slightly in his seat, but he did not try to evade the question. "Do I still miss her? Yes, every day. I don't think that will ever change. But if you're asking me if it's still hard for me that you're a girl, and look so much like her, the answer is …..yes, somewhat. But much less than before."

She accepted the verdict without flinching. "What was she like?" It was odd that, in all those years, she had never actually asked that question.

"She was …..high spirited, vivacious, stubborn. She loved to laugh." He stopped, his eyes became blank. "I still think I can _hear_ her laughter sometimes. It was the gladdest, the sweetest sound. She was fearless, and so happy." His tone had become reminiscent. "I liked to think she was just like your mother. Or as your mother must have been, as a little girl."

"Perhaps. Mother's father had loved her, too." The reproof was barely audible.

"You're quite right." He, too, accepted her verdict of his failure.

She turned her head, and said softly: "She would be grown and married by now, if she had lived."

He looked at her, but said nothing.

"Did you ever think ….that she would marry Thad?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You took her to see him in New Orleans …... so I wondered…."

"My only thought at the time was that she would like to meet her cousin," he said, but an inquisitive look had come into his eyes. He smoothly shifted gears. "What happened, Rose? After seeing the two of you together last night, I felt sure that…"

She shook her head, her face covered with a mask that rivaled the blandest of his masks. "I don't want to talk about that. I want to know …"

He waited, the sound of the wheels and the fall of the hose's hoofs the only noise in a silent world.

"During your time in Atlanta. Things were not easy between you and mother." It was a statement, not a question.

"No."

"I want to know…when you gave up hope."

For the first time, he showed signs of discomfort. The cornflower-blue eyes of his small interrogator were watching him narrowly. "And don't even _try_ to lie to me."

He laughed, an odd laugh. "The Spanish Inquisition, in my own carriage. How did you know, by the way? I can't believe your mother would have said anything."

She shook her head impatiently. "That will keep for another time. Just accept that I know most of the details of what happened. Tell me _when_."

He turned to the fog, as if the answer was hidden in the swirl. "I don't know if there was just one _when_. I felt the full impact of my foolishness after Scarlett had her miscarriage. She lay sick and in pain, but didn't call for me. Or so I thought at the time. That's when I started to close myself off from her. My decision to leave her was effectively made after Bonnie died. I felt there was nothing left of us – to hold me. I was just waiting for an opportune moment to make my exit."

"Was there a moment…. a thought….when you knew you _had_ to give up? Something she said, or ….did?" For a brief second, she lost control, allowing the pain to seep into her voice. She took a shaky breath.

"It was a long time ago, Rose. But I believe that around the time of her fall, there were a lot of thoughts in my head that included the word "never". "This will _never _work." "She will _never_ love me." "You will _never_ find peace if you don't let go." So I did my best to harden my heart."

"Did it work?" She was regarding him keenly.

"Yes."

She smiled coldly, as if envisioning herself in possession of such serenity. "So you had peace."

"For a time."

"And then."

"And then, the matter of the murder happened, and I realized, albeit belatedly, that the time when I could have chosen to cut myself free had long past."

"If you could go back …. to that time when your lives hadn't been so entwined, when you still could have plausibly cut yourself free….._would_ you have, knowing what you know now?"

He thought for a long moment. "No. I don't think I could have. Because you see – I loved her already."

She barely breathed, waiting.

He ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. "Let me try to explain what I mean. You see, it wasn't just _grief_ about Bonnie that made relating to you so difficult. Grief, and loss, I could have dealt with over time. It was always more complicated than that. " He stopped, trying to put something into words he wasn't sure a sixteen year old could understand. "I've never been good at loving…..moderately. Once I get started, it's akin to a destructive flood that wipes out everything in its path. Your mother and I barely came out of the maelstrom alive, and Bonnie ….well, Bonnie didn't. I could afford to love your mother again, because our shared past set up some…. barriers …that I thought would contain my love, and keep it safe. I had no such barriers with you. From the first time I saw you I knew I could have loved you just as….. immoderately as I had Bonnie, as I had loved Scarlett in the beginning. In a strange, twisted way I thought keeping myself away from you would keep you from being hurt like we were. Like Bonnie was."

He stopped, as if debating with himself whether to continue. But he did, as if the words came without volition, as if he were speaking to a priest at a confessional and not to a girl barely on the brink of womanhood. "The terrible thing is that I can't help feeling Bonnie would have been hurt even if she had lived. No good can come of a man loving his daughter like a wife. I don't mean to say that I… …what I mean is, I'm not sure I would have allowed her a life away from me, let reach her full potential as an individual. I fear I would have suffocated her with my love."

She looked at him, and for a silent minute, felt the entire weight of his burden. Then she shook her head. "No."

"No?"

"It would have been fine. She was strong, and happy. You wouldn't have corrupted her. She would have made her own way. Eventually, she would have married someone wild and ineligible to spite you, but been quite happy nonetheless."

"Do you think so?" He could have been amused, if she hadn't been so earnest.

"I _know_." Now she was the one who hesitated, but plunged bravely ahead, as he had. "I …can _see_ things. About how events lead to each other, and what will happen in the future. It's not clairvoyance …. I don't believe in supernatural things, except maybe spirits. It's about cause and effect. Do you know what I mean?"

He nodded.

"It even works for things that ….didn't happen, because random events interfered. Like a riding accident. If you take the random events away, you can see how things would have gone. Not in detail of course, but in the big picture."

"How useful. So what about your future"?" he teased, trying to lighten the moment. "What do you see for yourself?"

She flinched. "It's hard to predict. It becomes ….. more muddled when my….. feelings are involved. I can't always tell my own wishes from reality."

He quickly leaned forward to kiss her dark head – affection was still hard for them. "I'm not sure why, but I do feel somewhat better. Perhaps you've just given me back the future. Or something to that effect." He could see his half-hearted attempt at levity fall flat.

"As for me," she said, with the strange, cynical smile she had chucked overboard in Galveston, but now miraculously retrieved. "I learned the inevitability of agony for those of us that love …._immoderately_. So forgive me if I don't quite share your enthusiasm." After an inestimable moment, she spoke again. "Please take me to Grandmother's now."

He didn't react immediately. You want to be a way from the house when Thad wakes up, he thought. You want to run, like I always did when I didn't feel loved, when there were problems. When I should have stayed, and fought. Because I didn't tell you the whole story. I didn't tell you that while loving Scarlett might have been inevitable, _giving up_ was a choice. _My_ choice.

But he said nothing. After a moment, he ordered the carriage to turn.

~~oo~~

Their grandmother lived in the same comfortable brownstone a few blocks away from the Butler mansion, a house that she had occupied ever since Rosemary's marriage. Efforts by all three of her grown children to dislodge her, and convince her to move in with them, had met with no success. She had long ago started to forget many things, and she was comfortable here, amongst her pictures and her memories. A staff of loving servants saw to her comfort, and she was a favorite not just amongst her grandchildren, but of many of her friends' offspring.

"Here we are," her father said, after the carriage had come to a halt.

She nodded gravely. "Thank you for the ride."

Rose stepped from the carriage, and one look at Jim's face as he helped her descend told her their former, comfortable relationship had become the final victim of this accursed day.

Her grandmother was seated in a high armchair in her favorite sitting room, which overlooked the river. A white knitted blanket covered her lap. Her maid had set cookies and tea on the table by her side.

"Bonnie," she said brightly, when Rose entered the room. "How lovely that you're coming to see me."

Rose stumbled forward, and, kneeling down, put her head on the old woman's lap. Her body suddenly shook with weeping.

"There there, my darling little Bonnie," her grandmother said, in a soothing, sing-song voice, petting her head. "There there. It will all be all right in the end."


	8. Mischief

Hi everyone, and thanks for the thoughtful reviews. GWTW fans are the most intelligent, insightful (and of course the best-looking) of all people! Hi to the guest from Suriname, South America who commented – I love hearing where people are from. By popular demand, here is a) the younger kids (of course getting into trouble) and b) pillow talk. And of course, drama. But that's a given. Hope you enjoy!

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By the time Rhett arrived back at the stables, the mists were starting to lift, slowly dissipated by the listless winter sun. He had decided to make good on his intent to spend the day away from the office. As he descended, he saw his animated womenfolk, attired in winter walking dresses, apparently waiting for the carriage to return.

"There you are," Scarlett said brightly, her face lightening up when she saw him, and walked towards him with outstretched hands. Since Rose had not been present to stop her, she was wearing a slightly ostentatious grey felt hat, much crinkled in front, with strips of black ostrich and silver galloon as trimming. Her camel hair cloak had a blue passementerie fringe, but was otherwise unadorned, and the cut was quite flattering to her elegant figure. "We were just deciding whether to take the open phaeton or to wait for you! James said you were out driving with Rose?"

"I'm not sure I was really out driving with Rose," he drawled, kissing her briefly. "I think I've been out driving with …. myself. I was turned upside down, shaken, and paddled like a carpet until I told her whatever she wanted to know. And I could tell something major was the matter, but she rarely betrayed herself by more than a flinch. And she's barely sixteen." He shook his head. "I never understood just how much you had to put up with being married to me, my love."

"Well, it's nice that you finally realize it," Scarlett said rather drily. "Where is she?"

"Left her with my mother. She'll take her carriage back."

"Well! I dare say it will do her good to see her grandmother." She turned to Ella and Phoebe, and then back to him. "We were invited to a bruncheon at Mrs. Jennings'. She invited Rose as well, but we will make her excuses. We'll be back by lunchtime."

He helped them courteously into the carriage, and saw them off. His expression was still thoughtful.

Rhett walked slowly into the house. An unusual air of stillness greeted him.

"Peregrine," he asked his oldest son, who he discovered hiding under the red cherry wood desk in the library. "What are you doing down there?"

Two bright green eyes looked up at him from under a mop of dark hair. "Hiding from Miss Addy."

"Of course you are," his father agreed, genially. "And where are your brothers? And everyone else?"

"Dan is hiding in the oak chest in our bedroom," Perry reported, counting off on one hand as he spoke. "Gerry and Chuck are in the playroom. They're, uhm, busy. Mother is out with Aunt Phoebe and Ella. Cousin Thad and Wade and Uncle Chase went to see Uncle Charles. And Rose …." he said, peering around his father's large frame "was supposed to be with you."

"Rose is at Grandmother's. " Rhett reached out his hand, and pulled the boy out, who was dressed in the Scottish kilt popularized by Queen Victoria. "Shall we go upstairs and rescue Dan? And I wish you two would stop worrying Miss Addy. She's the fourth governess we've had since we came here, and I'd rather not have to hire another one. At least not anytime soon."

The boy trotted comfortably beside him as they ascended the large, curved staircase. "But it's so hard _not_ to, Dad. Fussy woman are too much fun to tease," he observed candidly. "And besides, it's your own fault if you keep hiring people who are 'fraid of toads."

His father laughed. "Indeed. But there's also that little matter of your education."

"Oh, I don't need to learn anything," his son assured him. "I'm going to be a pirate when I grow up. They don't have to bother with 'rithmetic."

Rhett gave this idea the due consideration it deserved. "Pirates need navigational abilities," he said. "And some skills at mathematics may be helpful when you're counting up all your …. loot."

Perry looked thoughtful. "Do you think so? But I'm sure they don't need to know French. Who's ever heard of French pirates?" Opening the door, he pointed to an elongated object on the floor, and cautioned, "don't step on the periscope. We need it to spy on people."

He advanced towards the toy chest at the back of the boy's room, and opened the lid. Another green-eyed copy of himself, with slightly more rumpled hair, emerged.

"Thanks Per," Daniel remarked. "Was getting kinda dark, and hard to breathe." He glanced at his father. "Hi Dad. We were hiding from Miss Addy."

"So I am told. Where is that worthy lady, by the way?"

"She was in the playroom," Daniel reported. "But come to think of it, I haven't heard her crying for the last ten minutes or so."

"She was crying?" Rhett inquired, with polite interest.

"We'd tied her up to a chair," Perry confided. "With the rope left over from the swing you installed in the back. Gerry and Chuck were supposed to guard her."

"I see," said their father urbanely. "Perhaps we shall go see if they have… let her escape."

Rhett strode purposefully to the playroom at the other end of the hall. Another copy of the twins, only smaller and brown-eyed, was standing next to a toddler in the middle of the room, staring at the _corpus delicti_. Both looked vaguely guilty.

"Gerry," Rhett said amiably to his youngest son. "What happed to Miss Addy?" The grey-haired woman on the high-backed chair was obviously still breathing, but had slumped sideways, with her eyes closed.

"She fainted," Gerry announced ominously. "I _told_ Perry not to pull the ropes so tight. But," he added quickly, "there were _no_ toads involved, Dad. I swear. Toads're hibernatin'. "

Rhett shook his head. Stepping forward, he undid the professional knots that tied the rope in the back. "Sailor's knots," Perry said proudly. "Just like you taught us this summer."

"I'm glad to see you're putting what I teach you to such good use." He shook the governess slightly on her shoulders. "Miss Addy. Are you alright?" When he got to response, he picked up her slight form and carried her over to the sofa by the window, which he opened wide. She coughed, and came to.

"Oh! Mr. Rhett!" She flustered with charming confusion after she took in her surroundings. "So sorry for all the trouble! These boys…." She shuddered. "This one," she said, pointing at Gerry, "distracted me while these" (pointing at the twins) "tied me up! In all my many years of teaching I have never…"

"I am devastated by the behavior of my unruly offspring," he said, with a smile that could have melted stones. "Boys? What have you to say to Miss Addy?"

"Sorry," the trio muttered in unison, heads downcast.

"And now perhaps you would like to come downstairs with me and have a nice cup of tea", he added smoothly. "And I will make sure the boys learn their lesson about how to treat a lady."

Like many a woman before her, she, too caved in to his charm. "Oh! Why thank you, Mr. Rhett." She rose, and patted her coiled grey locks. "I don't even want to know what I look like!"

"You look wonderfully," he smiled. With a smooth motion, he picked up Wade's drooping toddler, handing him to Miss Addy to take to his crib.

With a backward glance at the boys, he said congenially. "I am sensing that you poor boys must be terribly bored if you 're reduced to playing tricks on your governess. Perhaps the three of you would like to help Jim and the stable hands muck out the stalls. Burns off excess energy. And," he added, with a glance at Perry, "builds up muscles for future pirates."

"Yes, Dad", the trio chorused, glumly.

~~oo~~

Rose arrived back at the house shortly before two-thirty. She stepped off the carriage and waved to Gavin, her grandmother's driver, before slowly making her way to the stable to give instructions to have Shadow saddled for her ride with Ashley Wilkes.

She heard laughter, and stopped for a moment in the semi-darkness to watch. The black stable hands were in the process of putting new bedding into the clean stalls, one of them tossing bales of straw from the hayloft above through the large hole in the ceiling to the men below, forming a chain. To her surprise, she saw Thad amongst them, lifting and throwing bales with the others. He was dressed in riding garb, his black hair tousled and covered in dust. Affectionate ideoms flew back and forth in a dialect Rose could barely understand, and she watched Thad make noises she suspected came naturally. The young men caught the heavy bales and threw them to each other as if they were nothing, their firm muscles barely straining with the effort. When four bales were in front of each stall, they stopped, and the young man who'd been up in the hayloft hopped down to join them. The stable hands each grabbed pitchforks, and started to spread out the straw.

Thad grinned at them. "Leave y'all slackers ter yer fate, now." He stepped away, put his hand to his neck and ripped off his shirt in a smooth motion. He grabbed a pail of cold water, which he unceremoniously dumped over his head, rinsing off the worst of the straw dust. The water ran over his shoulders and down the matted chest, and he shook his hair like a wet puppy before grabbing a towel and vigorously rubbing himself dry. The easy grace of his powerful body, which could at times appear feral and dangerous, now appeared merely exuberant, and he seemed as relaxed and happy as Rose had ever seen him.

When he'd fished toweling off, he noticed her standing in the back of the stable. "Rose!" he called, his face lighting up even further. He dropped the towel and strode towards her, still shirtless. Speaking to her, he code-switched effortlessly from the boys' vernacular into Rhett's Charlestonian drawl. "I missed seeing you this morning. I apologize for the dust, and my unkempt appearance. I spent almost five hours with my father, and believe me - I needed a workout after that."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," she said, rather coolly, her lips pressed into a thin line. A look of confusion washed over his face, mixed with concern. "What's wrong, Rosey?"

Her expression hardened further. "Nothing. I need someone to saddle up Shadow. Ashley Wilkes will come to take me riding in fifteen minutes."

At that, his face went completely blank, and he stepped back. "I see," he said softly. "You've had time to think, and remembered how much better you can do than the illegitimate son of the town whore. And you're quite right. You _can_ do so much better. Please accept my regrets, and my best wishes for your future happiness."

Her eyes flashed. "I…."

He stepped towards her, very deliberately placing his large brown hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer. His grip hurt. "So Ashley Wilkes is next," he murmured softly. "Or is it Beau you've set your sights on? I hope you're enjoying this game you are playing. How heady it must be, to sink your claws into men's hearts and rip them out alive. And I'm a worse fool than most, allowing myself to believe you might come to think of me as an equal. But I thank you for disabusing me of my erroneous assumption so quickly, and so completely. " His rough voice faltered, and he looked away briefly. "I hope it amuses you that I was willing to do whatever it took to give you the life and the name I thought you deserved. Even make up with my father. I'm elated to learn that won't be necessary anymore."

The cruel hand contracted, and then pushed her away. She almost stumbled, and he instinctively put out a hand to steady her. Then he drew a deep breath, staring down into her blue eyes, his hand still resting on her shoulder. "Even now, all I can think about is how I missed my chance to kiss you, in that one moment where you thought you cared. So you see how much men are worth, Rosey – not all that much in the end. Good luck - and good-bye."

Thad had turned, and strode very deliberately back to the house.

Ashley Wilkes, who arrived a mere ten minutes later, only noted that Rose looked a bit out of spirits. "I hope it's because you're missing Beau," he said, in a friendly voice. "I will try to make up for his absence by telling you everything about him that you want to know."

~~oo~~

"What a topsy-turvy day," Scarlett exclaimed, sitting at her dresser and brushing her long dark hair with vigorous strokes. "First, I hear the boys have nearly suffocated Miss Addy, and now this! Why do you think Thad left so suddenly?"

"Something happened with Rose," said her husband, who was in the process of buttoning up his night-shirt. "Neither of them would talk about it. He just thanked me for our hospitality, and said it's time that he left. I wasn't able to get anything else out of him, and he was off to the depot within the hour. Rose went straight to her room after riding with Ashley, and learning that Thad had gone. She wasn't talking, either." He laughed, suddenly. "I'm afraid Thad went and gave Charles a piece of his mind before he left, because my brother came by earlier this evening, sounding as rattled as I've ever seen him."

He slipped underneath the covers, leaning his broad back against the pillows, cigar in hand, with a contemplative air.

"Did he?" Scarlett said. "Well. I'm sorry about that, to be sure. I wonder what's gotten into him? He seemed so eager to build a relationship with Charles at one point."

"The only reason Thad spoke to him at all is because he hoped to marry Rose, and didn't want his illegitimacy to be a stigma for her", Rhett said. "It's nothing he cared about on his own accord. In fact, I'm sure he still detests Charles, for having set him adrift in the world. He knows his mother and he would have had no support if it hadn't been for me."

"So he did what you did for Bonnie, with the Old Cats," Scarlett said, thoughtfully. "Catering to someone he didn't care for all that much, for Rose's sake."

"Yes, something like that. And when he and Rose fought – or whatever happened between them – he thought he no longer had to hold back. Imprudent, of course, because he didn't consider that their rift might be fixed, and then he might once more want Charles' good-will. But prudence is rarely a man's first object when he's heart-broken, and angry."

"Perhaps it's all for the best," Scarlett said. She put the brush down, and started climbing into the bed.

"Perhaps." Her husband said, pulling her next to him.

"It 's just a pity you wasted all that money you gave to the Jennings!"

"Don't worry," Rhett said, with a comfortable smile. "I will pass the word that Thad was called back to Texas because of an emergency. And then …..we will see if we don't need my investment at some point in the future, after all."

"Rhett Butler! If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd actually _like _ to see a match between Rose and Thad," Scarlett exclaimed.

He laughed. "I admit I have my reservations as well – not because of his background, but because Thad is a physical creature, and Rose isn't, at least not yet. I suspect that's mostly my fault, surrounding her with shades instead of affection while she was growing up. If it's really who she is, she may do better with a Beau Wilkes, who will shower her with books and music and philosophy, and not demand too much of her with regards to intimacy. If it's _there_, but she's just keeping it suppressed ….." he continued thoughtfully, "she will be miserable if she one day wakes up to it, in a relationship where it's not wanted. And I'm afraid she might, because she's so much like me in every other way. "

"You mean she'd be unhappy like I would have been, had I married Ashley," Scarlett pronounced calmly.

"Yes, exactly." he said, softly but firmly. "We're both the opposite of ethereal, you and I. Which is why I knew all along we'd make such a fine match." He gave her a squeeze, and she giggled.

She snuggled next to him. "At least I now know for sure he isn't yours," she said.

"That who's not mine? Thad?"

"Yes. I don't believe you'd even be considering the match, if he and Rose were half-siblings, after all!"

He regarded at her thoughtfully. "_Was_ there still doubt, my love?"

"Not really," she said, candidly. "But these sorts of things stick in your mind, and oh, periodically, you wonder!"

He pulled her to him. "You may stop wondering. He_ is_ Charles' son. In fact, I didn't even know Belle until after I learned through the rumor mill that he'd gotten a girl pregnant, and had washed his hands of the affair. You see, Charles and I weren't really speaking at that time." His hand was absent-mindedly stroking her hair. "I found out who they were, and looked them up, and did what I could to assist them, seeing that the baby was my nephew, and had been outcast by the Butlers just as I had been. But that's all."

"I know that," she said, "and I knew it all along. I don't know why I said what I did," she added, with a somewhat forced brightness. "But at any rate, what's done's done, and perhaps things can now get back to normal around here!"

"I doubt it," he chuckled, dousing the light, and unconsciously echoing Wade's pronouncement from not too long ago. "In fact, I have a feeling things are about to get even more interesting."


	9. Māra the Tempter

Thank you, wonderful people, for the reviews. I enjoyed each and every one. M-rating for this chapter. Nothing actually happens in it – two guys sit in a bar and talk – but the content is definitely M. Hope you enjoy.

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**They had come to him glittering with beauty —**

**Taṇhā, Arati, and Rāga —**

**But the Teacher swept them away right there**

**As the wind, a fallen cotton tuft.**

At the depot, he learned that the next train wouldn't leave the station for another day, and Thad, now faced with the need to take a hotel room for the night, was once more given the chance to roll his eyes about the infrequent and unreliable railway service in Charleston. This was a different part of town from the highly desirable, tree-edged neighborhoods along Rutledge Avenue, where the Rhett Butlers lived, and not an area where one wanted to spend too much time alone without cover. He walked up Market Street with purposeful strides and without asking for directions, somewhat atypical for a visitor who had supposedly only spent a few days in town, and never without supervision. He did not once turn his head to the side, but his entire body retained an awareness of his surroundings that never lapsed for an instant. He had grown up in streets like these.

His face was unusually pensive, and there was an ache in his chest he was too hurt to identify, or even acknowledge. His dark hair had curled into thick ringlets in the clamminess of the December evening. There were still a few hours of daylight left, but most of the storeowners and customers had already turned in for the night. Left on the streets remained those without home or purpose, or those with very specific purposes indeed, and their hard, appraising eyes ran quickly over his frame as he passed. His body felt them.

Bill the Pickpocket assessed the likelihood that the stranger kept his purse in an accessible place, and whether to call his companion Bart to stage one of their "emergencies" that involved one person breaking down in front of the target, and the other quietly emptying his pockets from behind. Sarah Gillis, the baker's widow, caressed him with an appreciative gaze, even stopping surreptitiously to stare after him. Ken, who dealt in Opium and other cordials, wondered if the visitor might be interested in any of his line of products. And Crazy Lil, who was rumored to have escaped Roper's Insane Asylum during the 1886 earthquake, called out prayerful incantations as he walked by.

Thad turned into the Golden Ale saloon, situated right on the edge of the seedier neighborhoods, just before the city emptied itself irrevocably into the ghettos. Numerous vagrants populated the area – old men with paper-thin skin, children with bloated bellies and famished eyes. Thad tossed coins at them, and watched them scamper, the stronger ruthlessly pushing aside the weak.

The barkeeper recognized him, although he clearly couldn't remember his name. He hadn't come here often.

"Scotch with ice", Thad said, not in the mood for anything complicated. The man nodded, pouring his drink with slow, inefficient gestures. Thad ran the tip of his index finger over the smooth surface in front of him, and then glanced around the room. The counter-top needed cleaning badly, as evidenced by the track his finger had left behind, and there were dirty glasses left on tables where the customers had long gone. Garbage sat unswept under several chairs, and the unwashed windows acted as an eerie prism for the low afternoon light.

Others were more on their game. Thad had barely touched the Scotch to his lips before a handsome young woman slid into the bar stool next to him, looking at him with obvious invitation in her eyes.

"You seem new here," she said flirtatiously. "Do you need company?"

Thad shook his head. "No, thank you." It was just firm enough, and friendly enough, that she took both the hint, and no offense.

"Too bad. Maybe another time," she winked, and slid off the chair. The night was still young, and she was not here to waste her time on those who didn't appreciate her efforts.

The sandy-haired man in the chair next to him, who Thad had heretofore ignored, turned his head. He was unusually well dressed for this neighborhood, with a slim, patrician countenance and soft, hazel eyes. "You must pardon Jasmine. It's not every day that such an …_attractive_ man walks through the door of this particular establishment." His cultured voice briefly lingered on the adjective, and his gaze quickly swept over Thad appraisingly, before fixing once more on his glass.

Thad laughed in spite of himself. He was used to handling those propositions, as well. "Thanks, but no thanks to that offer, too."

"Pity," the other man murmured.

Thad drank from his glass, and set it down again. There was a spark of curiosity in his face. "That was daring of you, asking me so blatantly. Most of your kind are a bit more ...shall I say..._.subtle_ about it. How did you know I wouldn't slug you for your presumption?"

The other man raised his head. "Not only _your_ kind learns how to sum up people quickly."

"My kind?"

"Street kids," the man smiled, amiably. "It's in your eyes, for all you wear shirts of French linen and a vest and trousers that cost more than the average man's yearly wages around these parts. You never lose the_ look_."

Thad did not dispute him. "And what about me did you sum up, that you felt safe to ask?"

"Men who prefer girls don't tend to turn away Jasmine," the other man offered gently. "She's the prettiest whore in the neighborhood, and has her choice of clients. But you did turn her away, and you were ….kind. You're also quite … _pretty_, in the way some of my sort are. So I figured it was a fair risk."

"Thad Watling", Thad said, offering his hand.

"Frank Huger." The other man took it, and shook it firmly, and impersonally.

"A big name," Thad said, softly.

"Some feel that way, including most of those who bear it," said the other man, with a depreciating laugh.

"It makes me wonder how you'd know anything at all about … street kids, or why you'd have to seek your pleasures in places like these, amongst strangers."

"I am ….shall we say ….not all that much admired in polite society around these parts."

Thad laughed. "That makes two of us."

"Yes," Mr. Huger nodded. "I believe I have….heard of you. Even we outcasts are not entirely cut off from the information network of the city. I've heard of the honorable Mr. Charles Butler, who fathered a son with a poor white girl – who later ran a fairly well-known bordello in Atlanta. The indomitable Belle Watling. You do not look much like her, except perhaps that your skin is fairer than your sire's."

"Why do you stay here, if they do not appreciate you?"

"I don't", the other man said. "I only come to stare at the wrought-iron gates of my past, before moving on to Atlanta or New York, where I am amongst more open-minded people. "

"Then we are even more alike than I thought."

"And you …what do you do here, Thad Watling? One hears you have done well for yourself out West."

The sardonic eyebrows of the Butlers rose in self-deprecation. "If _you _figure it out, let me know."

"A girl, perhaps? That is why most men do foolish things", Mr. Huger offered, amiably. "A beautiful girl."

Thad smiled, wryly. "True enough. I don't claim to be an exception."

"Who is she?" There was genuine, friendly interest in the hazel eyes.

Thad hesitated, and then shrugged. "My cousin. Rose Butler."

Mr. Huger whistled. "You don't aim too high, do you?"

"I was ... a fool."

Mr. Huger laughed. "We are all fools, about someone, at some point. At least, we _should _be, if we want to lay any claim to having lived life to its fullest."

There was a brief, wistful look in Thad's eye, immediately replaced by determination. "For just a moment, I thought …but unfortunately, in the end, her sense of self-worth outweighed the brief feeling of affection she may have had for me. And the odd thing is ….I have no belief in the system I failed at. This city is dying beneath us as we speak. It has no pulse …..no economic growth, no new blood. The big names - like yours, are the same ones that were prominent in the antebellum city. They still feel like... _aristocrats_, not businessmen. They have no demonstrable business ethics. The Chamber of Commerce is a Gentlemen's Drinking Club. The so-called chairmen hold long luncheons, where they consume wine and liquors, and when they return, they barely work for an hour before they go home again. Look around you ….it's barely six o'clock, and most of the stores have already shut down for the night. The city will never get anywhere with an attitude like this."

"There are the phosphate mines."

"The only major industry, and it is excruciatingly vulnerable to the weather, what with the mines, and equipment, being situated so close to the water. Charleston already suffered one major hurricane -and an earthquake- just in the last decade. One more determined storm will finish off the phosphate mines, and they'll be left with nothing. Don't count on rice or cotton prices ever making a recovery, because they won't. Not with the cheap imports coming in from South East Asia."

"Hard words," said Mr. Huger. "Is it better elsewhere?"

"It's much easier to do business in Atlanta, or Augusta or Charlotte, I've found," said Thad, shrugging his shoulders. "And I'm sure other people are finding the same thing. _This_ place …..it lives in the past, with its balls and its hallowed St. Cecilia Society. And what's worse, it feels no incentive to change. Even its harbor is losing volume with each passing year., and the Norther Textile industry is moving towards the railways to move their wares. Charleston will turn into a quaint, historical town by the wayside. A tourist attraction for the nostalgic, but little more than that. I doubt it will recover before the turn of the next century, if then."

"It has a renowned theatre, and silks from China, and artists to paint family portraits of the upper classes. To them, that is enough. And you yourself have been making quite a splash in Charleston society, my sources tell me. Your uncle, it is said, donated quite a large sum to the Jennings in return for their patronage."

Thad stiffened briefly, and then smirked. "Did he? I should have known. For what it's worth, it was done without my knowledge or consent."

"And Texas? How is business there? You're in ranching?"

Thad nodded. "In a way. I do own a ranch in Texas- which I keep profitable- but my money comes from investments. At this point, my assets are sufficiently diversified that I'm no longer vulnerable to short-term market fluctuations."

Mr. Huger nodded. "But you did not grow up in Texas."

"No. I grew up in New Orleans."

"I can hear it in your voice, just a trace – although you speak Charlestonian like a Native. Were your _street kid _days spent in New Orleans?"

"I wasn't really a street kid", Thad said, wondering at himself. He was not in the habit of sharing such intimate details of his life with a stranger - or indeed, anyone. "Or rather, I was a street kid with money. My uncle provided generously for me, financially. I didn't see too much of him, though, or of my mother. With regards to human companionship - for all intents and purposes, I was on my own."

"That is hard."

Thad shrugged. "I didn't think so at the time. Looking back, it must have been. I was vulnerable, and, in the beginning, somewhat naïve." He looked at the other man. "I even had a questionable friendship with one of your sort for a while."

Mr. Huger winced. "Is this where I will hear the story of child predation that we're supposedly famous for?"

"Oh, no," Thad said, with his dark laugh. "If anything, I was the predator. He wasn't much older than me. A boy from my school. I used him for his friendship and devotion, without ever giving him what he wanted, because my tastes truly didn't run in that direction. But it felt good to be admired, loved even. I didn't much care who got hurt in the process. A boy cut loose in the world can be ….dangerous driftwood." He shrugged. "Eventually, I was old enough to attract the attention of the local mulatto girls, and found support there while I was working in saloons." He drank another sip from his glass. "As for the _real_ predators, they come in all flavors and preferences, and target both genders indiscriminately. My guardian's money shielded me from the worst of them, and for that I will always be grateful. I saw too many of my friends, both boys and girls, have to go that route just to eat."

"It's a hard world," his companion agreed.

"Yes. It is. Even at my worst, I had a roof over my head, a good education, and my music. I ran the streets with the others, but with a full belly on most days. And even those who had to sell themselves into prostitution were in some ways better off than the children who died in droves from malaria and yellow fever. Or diarrhea and malnutrition."

"Indeed." The other man also drank from his glass. "But tell me something, Thad Watling, - with a background like yours, what would you have done, had the lovely Rose Butler heeded you? What would you have done with a woman raised far and above the dark things in life, and that you will never be able to share?"

"Don't think I haven't asked myself that," Thad murmured softly. "Whether I want her because she's a symbol of the life I should have had, the name I was denied. In many ways, it would be easier, were it so. I could simply acknowledge it to myself, and move on. But there's much more to Rose than just another spoiled débutante."

"We all think that," Mr. Huger laughed, "about the person we fall in love with. That they are somehow, intrinsically, _different_."

Thad twisted the corner of his mouth. "Rose _is _different. At least for me. I've known she was the one since she was about ten or eleven. She seemed like the other half of myself. I could talk to her about anything, and she would understand. Not having a taste for children either, I was quite content to wait for her to grow up. I had it all planned out, how I would propose when she turned sixteen, and marry her a year later. In Texas, it was much easier to overlook the class difference between us. Then her mother moved her to Charleston, into the antiquated family hierarchies that was bound to remind her she was a Butler and a Robilliard, and I was ….nothing. And she wrote me letters, full of parties and families with last names like yours …augmented by her mother, who wrote to mine in detail about every compliment and proposal Rose had received that week. It nearly drove me insane. "

"I can see how it would have." Mr. Huger said, with some sympathy. "And what will you do now?"

"Go home ….regroup. There's not much I can do. She's made her choice."

"Did you give her one?" the other man asked, with his gentle smile. "Did you ….talk to her? I've found it helps."

Thad threw him a look. Mr. Huger laughed. "You don't think I know what I am talking about, do you. But I do. I've been in my current relationship for over a decade. Quite happily, if I say so myself."

Thad conceded the point, but only to a degree. "You are not wrong. But it is somewhat more difficult to ...talk to someone of the opposite gender- who, as you quite correctly point out, was not raised like me."

"So you say." Mr. Huger smiled, and finished his drink. "I enjoyed our meeting, and even more, perhaps, listening to your voice. Dark like rich chocolate. Very unusual, and …. quite ...sensual."

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Thad showed annoyance. "That was ...unnecessary."

Mr. Huger laughed. "Now you see how women must feel. Perhaps all those men paying compliments to your Rose _irritate _her as well, much more than they please her. In any case, you won't know unless you ask." He offered his hand. Thad took it.

~~oo~~

The afternoon had given way to twilight as he stepped out of the saloon. For a brief moment, the dreary city faded away before his eyes, and he was in New Orleans again in the springtime, inhaling the intoxicating scents of the flower markets, his eyes burning with the sting of the wood fires. His straining ears heard the omnipresent sounds of gay music from the street corners, and the rich, warm voices beckoning to him, guiding him home.

And then he blinked, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing but the haggard, dark face of the Opium dealer, drawing closer circles, attracted by desperation as hounds to blood.

Māra the Tempter, he thought, wryly. And as he shook his head one last time in negation, he wished, unlike the Buddha, that one of the temptations that that old fiend had bellowed up _had_ been enticing to him – or, put more concretely, that his mind could be permitted to lose itself in warm flesh or cold poison. With the fading of his vision, all that remained behind was Rose's face, as it had looked at the dance, and later the hallway – pale, luminous, shaken to the core.

As he turned into the familiar archway of the crumbling hotel, he knew he would carry it up with him into the monk-like austerity of the small, white room, and that he would get no rest tonight.

Once in possession of a key, he walked through the breakfast nook to the stair in the back, which would take him up to the guest rooms. He noticed a run-down parlor piano, and briefly lowered his right hand to the keys, picking out an old, French tune.

_Au clair de la lune_

_Mon ami __Pierrot_

_Prête-moi ta plume_

_Pour écrire un mot._

_Ma chandelle est morte_

_Je n'ai plus de feu_

_Ouvre-moi ta porte_

_Pour l'amour de Dieu._

Lifting his hand again, and ascending the stairs, he thought that Māra had been, in the end, an awkward and inefficient tempter. It wasn't lust, or even somnolence, that men really craved. How much more enticing was the offer _Mephisto_ had made in Goethe's _Faust_. That craftier devil had bartered nothing more than one moment of_ perfect happiness _in return for Faust's soul.

Had he, like Faust, found a black poodle waiting for him in the small room, he might have been tempted to seal the bargain.

* * *

_There. I was itching to write about the downside of all that opulence, and about slightly more diverse characters. The Hugers were real, unlike all the other "fine family names" in previous chapters that I'd made up. However, if they had a sprig named Frank, it is entirely coincidental, because that character is made up as well. Thad's wise words about the business practices of Charleston, as well as the historical snippets, were written based on information in the book "Charleston! Charleston! The History of a Southern City" by Walter Fraser. _


	10. Through the Looking Glass

_Thank you, lovely people, for your delightful reviews. I can't believe that you were able to roll with something so dark and so different. You are fabulous as usual. As per request, here is more about the younger kids, this time interacting with Scarlett. It's not a terribly humorous chapter, but it was necessary._

* * *

_**`Now! Now!' cried the Queen. `Faster! Faster!' And they went so fast that at last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the ground with their feet, till suddenly, just as Alice was getting quite exhausted, they stopped, and she found herself sitting on the ground, breathless and giddy.**_

_**The Queen propped her up against a tree, and said kindly, `You may rest a little now.'**_

_**Alice looked round her in great surprise. `Why, I do believe we've been under this tree the whole time! Everything's just as it was!'**_

_**`Of course it is,' said the Queen, `what would you have it?'**_

_**`Well, in our country,' said Alice, still panting a little, `you'd generally get to somewhere else - if you ran very fast for a long time, as we've been doing.'**_

_**`A slow sort of country!' said the Queen. `Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!'**_

_** - Lewis Carrol, Through the Looking Glass**_

Ashley Wilkes presented himself to the consideration of Mr. Rhett Butler at 7:30 a.m. the next day, before said gentleman had left for the office. As he was shown into the library, he had a brief minute to look around, and admire his former rival's taste, both in furniture and in literature. It was a warm, elegant room of red cherry wood furniture, soft-toned wood floors and islands of reddish-beige Persian carpet. Modern 'open' bookcases laced the walls, mixed in with the more old-fashioned barrister versions. A desk stood on one side, and elegant sitting group on the other. As expected, it was a beautiful room. What was, perhaps, less anticipated was that it was also a _comfortable_ room, a room that would draw in children, and dogs - like the large yellow setter that had managed to curl up under the desk despite the limited space, and the small, round-faced black boy that briefly peaked around the corner, withdrawing when he found the room occupied.

It was, in short, the room of a happy man, somehow both cultured and inviting. Who would have believed it, Ashley thought to himself.

"Mr. Wilkes."

Ashley turned, and smiled at the man who had just entered the library. "After our…..extensive history together, I think we have earned the right to call each other by our first names."

"How may I be of service?" There was no lessening of the formality in Rhett's tone, although he did offer cigars and brandy, which Ashley declined, due to the early hour.

"I apologize for my early intrusion, but I'd hoped to catch you before you leave for work today." He hesitated. "I've come …. I've come because my son intends to make an offer for your daughter's hand this morning. And I know that you would never agree unless I can somehow convince you to let bygones be bygone."

"You believe to know me well," Rhett drawled, but regarded his opponent with something like amused interest, mixed with a hint of derision.

Ashley picked up on it easily. "You seem to believe I want Beau to marry Rose because she looks like Scarlett. That I somehow, both vicariously and misguidedly, want to right the past by uniting Scarlett's and my offspring in marriage."

The sardonic eyebrows went up. "Whatever gives you that idea?"

Ashley walked over to one of the large windows of the library, staring into the barren apple orchards beyond. The pale winter sun fell on his face. "I understand why you would think that. I thought the same thing, when I first saw Rose. I was terrified that history would repeat itself, only with my son. But as I got to know Rose, I realized she is nothing like Scarlett inside. She's like _us. _She's not... I mean... she's interested in books, and music, and even French philosophy. She and Beau speak the same language, share the same sentiments, have the same outlook on life. I'm not trying to explain or make excuses. My behavior in the past has been abominable enough, and I'll forever berate myself for the damage I've done to Scarlett by not understanding her, or myself – and the damage that was done, by extension, to you. But this is different."

"Of course it is." Now, the derision would have been obvious even to the uninitiated.

"Rhett." Ashley said, with some urgency, turning towards him again. "Beau loves her. He has done you or your family no harm – and in every other way aside from his connection to me, he is everything you could wish for in Rose's husband. He has no vices, a good income, a wide and interesting circle of friends, and would be able to provide well for Rose both financially and spiritually. Yes, she would have to move to Boston for a few years, but over time, we could probably move back to the South, so she can be closer to her family. In the meantime, we would do whatever we could to make sure she sees you regularly."

Rhett, who still stood in the middle of the room, smirked slightly. Then, with a sigh, he seemed to decide to put an end to this painful conversation. "Mr. Wilkes – if you knew me like you claim, you would also know that I do not, as a rule, make the sons suffer the sins of the fathers. Your own motivation is not even of tertiary importance to me. While I may not welcome the match, I will do nothing to prevent Rose from marrying Beau, should that be her wish."

Ashley looked both relieved, and somewhat wistful. "And you do not chose to forgive me."

It wasn't a question, and Rhett gave no answer.

"Good-bye, Mr. Butler", the other man said, softly. "And thank you, nonetheless." He left the room slowly, his silver hair the last thing to disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

~~oo~~

Gerald opened the door. "Hi Cousin Thad," he said briefly. "I thought you went back to Texas. " He held a long, narrow object with two small, circular protrusions in one hand, which seemed to arrest his interest much more than the returning visitor. "Everyone's out," he added, after stepping aside to allow his cousin to enter.

"Where is Rose?" Thad asked, not wasting time with preliminaries.

"In the orchard, with Cousin Beau."

A brief silence. "Do you know what they are doing?"

Gerald hesitated, and closed one eye to peer at him closely. "Promise not to tell?" In the past, Cousin Thad had never been a snitch.

Thad said nothing, which Gerry took as sufficient encouragement. "I …. sort of borrowed Perry's periscope from his room, and spied on them from behind the stables," he confided. "But don't tell Perry I borrowed it. He's ever so mean about sharing." And, as an afterthought: "Don't tell Rose either."

"What did they say?"

Gerald shot him a look of disgust. "Periscopes can't_ hear_," he explained, as if to a slow child. "They _see _things."

"_What _did you see?"

Grownups were odd, Gerry decided. Usually, they told him spying was impolite. Stopitrightnowgerry. And now ….

"Cousin Beau was kneeling," he reported, his excitement catching fire in his voice. "In the mud! Even though he had on a nice suit, and stuff. And he had a blue ring in his hand, all _big_ and blue and shiny. You know. Like a sapp…..safff….."

"A sapphire," Thad supplied, mechanically.

"Yes. And he gave it to _Rose_."

Something in Thad's face made Gerald take a step backwards.

"What did she do?"

"She took it," Gerry said, confused.

"I see," Thad said. Gerry took another step backwards. He blinked. And when he opened his eyes again, Cousin Thad seemed once more like his normal self.

"I don't need to see anyone after all," Thad said, evenly. "Do me a favor, will you, Gerry? Don't tell anyone you saw me. It can be ….our secret."

Gerald looked at him with interest. "I like secrets."

"Good." Thad stared at Gerry's face for a moment with an odd, intense expression, as if searching for a resemblance. Then he quickly ran his hand through the boy's dark hair. "Good-bye," he said, softly.

He turned around and closed the door behind him. They would not see him again for another two years.

Scarlett returned from her morning engagement merely ten minutes after he left. Had her carriage not been held up by the fire-wagon north of Rutledge Avenue, she might have arrived before Thad, and greeted him herself - and the course of several lives might have been altered.

"Gerry," Scarlett said, seeing her youngest son in the parlor. "Where are the other boys?"

"Doing 'rithmetic with Miss Addy in the school-room, " he said. "She told me to go play for a couple of hours because I was 'stracting them by making noises. But I was only making noises 'cause I was bored."

"I see," said his mother.

"Cousin Thad was here," he offered. "Oh. I forgot. That was 'supposed to be a _secret"_.

"Thad was here?" Scarlett said, with some concern.

"He came, and he left. He didn't want to see anyone after all," said Gerry, deciding he might as well spill everything. "And Rose got a big, blue ring from Cousin Beau!"

"She did?" Scarlett said, even more agitated, and entirely diverted from the news of Thad's arrival, and subsequent disappearance.

He nodded. To his considerable relief, his mother did not ask where he had gotten his information.

"Well," Scarlett said, distractedly. "Go play. I have to think!"

~~oo~~

"Rose," Scarlett asked, when her daughter returned to the house by the back door, her ardent suitor nowhere to be found. "Do you have something to tell me?"

"Beau Wilkes proposed." Her daughter's tone wasn't precisely unenthusiastic.

"So he came back," Scarlett murmured, stating the obvious.

"He only went away to buy a ring."

"And?" When Rose simply stared at her, she clarified, "I mean, what did you _say_?"

"I told him I'd think about it."

"Will you?"

"Yes." A firm nod, and a look of determination.

"Do you have the ring?"

Rose laughed, wryly. "I believe it's considered impolite to keep the ring before actually accepting the man." She paused. "It's lovely, if that's what you're asking. A large sapphire surrounded by diamonds."

"They're from a good family," Scarlett said faintly. Whatever she may have said against the match in the past – and in her mind, a close connection to the Wilkes was less than desirable for any number of reasons – it was far preferable to the alternative.

"I know." Rose looked even more statuesque than usual. There was no color in her face. She didn't even look_ pale_, Scarlett thought disjointedly. She appeared as though she were made of solid marble. Her mother decided to blame it on the ivory walking dress.

"He said he would do ….everything in his power to make me happy."

"He _would_." Scarlett replied, hopefully. "He's such a _nice_ boy." She tried to push away the mental image of herself married to Ashley. That would never have worked out, not after she'd realized his true character. But Rose was different from herself, wasn't she? Rose _liked_ dull books, and opera, and unimportant things that happened in the past – the kind of things the Wilkes were always going on about. It might work out quite well. Better than ….

Suddenly, she saw Thad's face flash before her mind's eye, not as he was now, but the boyish, charming face he had had when he was her only companion in the mountain wilderness of Colorado, where he had felt as close as a brother. She attempted to push that image away, too. She almost succeeded.

"I believe you and Beau could be very happy together!" she forced herself to say, brightly. A rock-like discomfort stuck in her throat, that she was unwilling and unable to analyze. After all, what mother wouldn't advise her daughter to make the best match possible? Or rather, she thought wryly, the best match _Rose was willing to consider._

But the strange feeling remained, and would not be dislodged again for quite some time.

Had she been bookish, or deeply religious, she might have said she felt _a little bit like Cain._

~~oo~~

"I've received an offer for your hand."

"Who?" She sounded as interested as if they were talking about a visitor coming for tea.

Her father regarded her closely. "Ashley Wilkes, _in lieu_ of his son Beau. I gather Beau has already spoken to you."

She said nothing.

"Were you surprised?"

She shook her head. "What did Mr. Wilkes say?"

"He said Beau loves you, and will do whatever is in his power to make you happy. And he begged me not to let ancient family history stand in the way of his son's suit."

She smiled, albeit slightly.

He took a step closer to her. "Rose. There is absolutely no reason for you to marry according to your mother's wishes. Or mine, for that matter. To tell you the whole truth," he smirked, "I admit a Wilkes wouldn't have been _my_ first choice anyways."

She smiled, and shook her head. "I would never marry except to oblige myself."

He watched her, and then took a stab in the dark. "What about Thad?"

For several heartbeats, he thought she would not answer at all. "Remember what you said? During the carriage ride in the fog? About how you loved Bonnie, and mother? About loving_ immoderately_?"

He nodded, slowly, the entire scene standing clearly before his eyes. "I do remember."

"I'm the same way," she said softly. "I also love_ immoderately_, when I love. And…...it frightens me."

"I'm not sure I understand."

She didn't answer again for several moments, then turned her pale face towards him again with a strange, cold fire in her eyes. "Don't you see? It's been over two years since our tentative reconciliation in Galveston, and I know that in those two years you've let yourself love me much more than you had in the past. But can you honestly say you're not still hedging your bets to a certain degree? With me, and even with mother?"

There was an expression of surprise in his swarthy face. He seemed about to answer her, but he stopped.

She nodded, as if having her beliefs confirmed. "Even if you no longer fear _hurting others _as much as you did before….the fear of _being __hurt_ remains. Surmounting it, being completely open and vulnerable about your love, is the final test of manliness - or womanliness, for that matter. Beau Wilkes has passed it. As has mother. You haven't, quite. And neither have I. Perhaps it is meant to be, and the two of us will always be cowards in matters of the heart. _You _will continue to hedge your bets, and I – I will continue on as I have, or head for the shelter of an honorable marriage with a man who won't ask too much of me. Like Mr. Beau Wilkes. And I dare say we'll rub by better than most people."

Perhaps, had he found an answer, anything to say to her to disprove her, things might not have gone as they did. But he had not. And he remained with the nagging feeling that while she had spoken the truth - it had not been the _whole truth. _Not quite. There were other, darker things in her eyes.

The very next day, Rose formally accepted Beau's offer.

~~oo~~

The household was thrown into a flurry of activities. Scarlett, who had done it all before for Ella's wedding, was unperturbed, as she already had the names of the best florists, dressmakers, musicians and caterers of the entire city on file. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was throwing a _very large party, _and this was going to be the largest party of all. Her taste had refined somewhat over the years, but she could still be both flamboyant and ostentatious if called upon. The preparations went so smoothly that no one, except the bride's father perhaps, noticed that Rose was walking around as if caught up in a not entirely pleasant dream.

One sunny afternoon, Scarlett had just come home from another meeting with the dressmaker whom she had commissioned to make Rose's wedding dress. Rose had chosen the style and the material herself, and it was coming together beautifully. Rose, the fond mother thought, would look like a princess.

She had barely entered the house when she was accosted by her second son.

"Mother!" Perry yelled. "Gerry took my periscope _again,_ without asking!"

"You should share with your brothers," Scarlett said, mechanically. She conveniently forgot that she herself had never been particularly fond of sharing toys (or later, clothes and shoes, or beaux) with her sisters.

"But it's _mine_," Perry grumbled. "I made it all by myself. Well, actually, Dad built it. But I helped! And I don't mind sharing with Dan, because he's careful, but I don't want Gerry breaking it. It has mirrors in it you know. It can even see around _corners_."

"Very nice, my dear." His mother was only listening with half her mind as she took off her coat, her hat and her gloves, and put them away.

"It saw Cherry go into Cousin Thad's room early in the morning, before Christmas, after the ball," Perry said, his smoldering curiosity about the odd movements of adults overcoming his fear of scolding. "In, out! And Rose, too. In, out!

This jumbled account caused screeching alarm bells to go off in the maternal heart. She whirled around to face him with all of her old grace. He had her full attention, now. "_Rose_ was in Thad's room early in the morning?"

"No," Perry said, shaking his head. "_Cherry_ went into Cousin Thad's room. I mean, _first_ she came up the stairs, of course. That's what woke me, you see. Because our room is right next to the stairs. We can always hear who's coming up, and then we spy on them. Except Dan was asleep this time." He sounded slightly disdainful.

"Yes," Scarlett said, refusing to be side-tracked by trivialities. "What happened _then_?"

Perry picked up his narrative. "After a minute, she came out again! And by that time, _Rose_ had come out of _her_ room, and was just standing there. And _then _Cherry went back down the stairs, and _then_ Rose went back into her own room! I think Cherry didn't see Rose," he said. "But I did. You see, you can see the entire corridor with the periscope if you turn it around like _this_." He demonstrated a quick, elegant twist with his wrist. Then he turned his green gaze on his mother again."Do _you_ know what they were doing? I've been thinking about it all this time. It was just so….. odd!"

It was to Scarlett's credit that this incoherent rendition played out with perfect clarity inside of her head. She caught both the implications, and the potential consequences of the young spy's confession. It explained so much that had previously puzzled her. Rose's reversal. Thad's anger. Not to mention….

And she felt a dull ache start to build up in her chest.

Most of us, at some point in our lives, are tested. Some of us are called upon to do heroics of the physical kind: one enormous burst of courage in the battlefield, braving enemy fire to save a wounded comrade, or pulling a child from a burning building. Others endure tests of a different sort. Sometimes, the most difficult tests are the ones that require us to set aside our own vanities, our most cherished hopes and deepest insecurities – for no other reason than to do the right thing.

A last hope flickered. "You're _sure _Cherry was only in Thad's room for a minute?"

"Maybe two," Perry conceded. "Probably less. In, out." He looked at her curiously, but even a ten-year old could see this was not the time to ask more questions.

Scarlett sighed. Her thoughts flew to the wedding, to the preparations already made, to the money already spent. She thought of her friends, their opinions, what they would say if Rose cried off at the last moment. She thought of the scandal. She thought of Rhett. And then she thought of her sixteen year old self, standing at the altar beside the wrong man for the wrong reasons.

"Where is Rose?"

"In her room."

"Find her, and bring her to the drawing room." She told her son. A thought struck her. "And get Gerry too. I need to ask him something."

And she had passed.


	11. My Sorrow

Thank you for your wonderful reviews. You all totally have Ashley's number - of course he understands Rose as little as he understands Scarlett, or himself. And yes, he is totally lame. *grin* This is, finally, my Rhett-gets-piled-upon chapter. Feel free to feel sorry for him. Or not. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**_- Robert Frost, My November Guest_**

Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell he so,

And they are better for her praise.

Rose walked into the room, still carrying about her that aura of stillness and unreality that had become so much a part of her over the past weeks.

"Sit down, please," Scarlett said, unable to conceal the agitation in her voice. If Rose picked up on it, she gave no indication. She sat, and folded her hands like a schoolgirl, waiting with the patience of those for whom life has already passed.

"Perry …no, Gerry first. Tell her what you just told me. About Cousin Thad."

Her brothers, who sat on the sofa across from Rose, also seemed caught in the strange solemnity of this meeting. They did not fidget, kick the cushion, or attempt to punch each other with their elbows as they would have done.

"Cousin Thad came back the day after he left, to look for you, Rose," Gerry said.

There was a flash of something in Rose's eyes. "Why did no one…."

Gerry dropped his gaze, his countenance suffused with discomfort. "What happened?" Rose said, and the quiet ferocity in her tone silenced him completely.

"Don't yell at Gerry," Scarlett chided, although she hadn't. "He didn't mean to …well! He saw Beau hand you the ring in the orchard, and he told Thad about it. It was only natural, after all. After hearing about the proposal, Thad left. And honestly, I'd forgotten about it until…."

"You_ wanted_ to forget," Rose said, with eerie calm.

"Cousin Thad said it was to be a _secret_," Gerry offered quickly, whether in defense of himself or his mother, it was not clear.

"Perhaps I did want to forget," Scarlett admitted, ignoring the interruption. "But I didn't mean … however, it doesn't matter, now. Perry has something to tell you as well. Perry, tell Rose ….." Then she looked at her daughter's face again, and at her sons, and changed course in mid-stride. "No. Perry, take Gerry back up into the schoolroom and stay there with Miss Addy. If Rose needs you to corroborate something later, she will come find you. Go." They scampered off without protest, indeed with palpable relief to get out from under their sister's disquieting gaze.

When the boys had left, Scarlett turned back to her daughter. Her hand went to her perfect coiffure, wishing she had something, anything to adjust so she could stall for time. Now that the time had come to have this conversation, she had no idea how to begin.

"Whatever it is, just say it, Mother," Rose said, icily. "It can't possibly be any worse than what you've just told me."

"I don't know," Scarlett replied, softly.

Rose stood up, and walked to the window, staring out into nothingness. "Don't know what, Mother." The bleakness of the landscape beyond the window seemed to echo in her voice.

"I don't know how to talk to you about this," Scarlett said, frankly. "I've never really known how to ….you know! Talk about some of the things with you that I'd always imagined a mother would talk to about with her daughter. Not that my mother did! But I thought …well, I thought you and I would be different. But every time I tried, you'd give me this….look, as if you already knew what I was going to say….and I'd lose heart! I comforted myself thinking you knew where to find me if you had questions, but I was probably just fooling myself! I should have persisted," she added, more to herself than to Rose.

"It's all right, Mother," Rose said, some of the chill leaving her voice. "You've always been supportive, and I did appreciate your efforts. It's just that I ….."

"I know you saw Cherry come out of Thad's room the morning after the ball," Scarlett said, suddenly, as if afraid her daring would leave her if she didn't blurt out the words then and there. "I know because Perry saw you. The periscope. Those boys seem to monitor everything that happens in that hallway with that blasted instrument, even at night. What _you _didn't see, apparently, is that she _had just gone in_. Perry said she wasn't in the room for more than a minute or two before she came back out again."

Scarlett hadn't thought it physically possible that Rose could have become any whiter. "You're certain?"

"Perry is certain. As certain as any ten year old can be," Scarlett said, gently.

Rose walked forward, mechanically, like a puppet on strings, and sat herself back down on the settee.

"I wish you had talked to me about it when it happened," Scarlett said, softly. "You see …even if Perry had not seen what he did, it is highly unlikely that … _you know._ Or _do_ you know? I'm always assuming … but you _must_ know, if you were upset about it!" She flushed, and brought her hands to her cheek in returning agitation. "I'm sorry. I'm making a complete muddle of this conversation, Rose! It took me years and years to be remotely comfortable speaking about these things with your father, and I have _no idea_ how to talk about them with you! But you see …..a decent man would not …be with another woman while he is in love with you, and thinks that you love him back! Or, for that matter, betray the trust of one of his oldest friends by dishonoring his daughter under our roof. And Thad _is _decent, and a grown man, not a green boy who has no control over his impulses. Not to say that he _had_ any impulses towards …I mean …."

Rose made a sound that could have been a snort. Then her face became still again, and she twisted nerveless fingers in her lap. "I don't know what …decent ….men do or not do, Mother, or what _impulses_ they may have. I'm not sure that it matters. What you're telling me is that he seems to have sent her away, and I …I not only did not trust him, but never gave him the chance to explain. I let him go away thinking I felt I was too good for him, because of my _birth_, of all things." She was laughing now, a hollow, acid laugh. "No wonder he hates me." The expressive eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears. "I _have_ made a mess of things, haven't I."

Something in her mother's face became still and hard as she watched her. "No, Rosey. _You_ haven't made a mess of anything. _You _are going to take this handkerchief, and go to your room, and lay down. You will have Cherry bring you tea, and you will think all the grand thoughts you should be thinking at sixteen, about the wonderful life you will have with work that fulfills you, and a man that you love. And in the meantime, the people who are _really_ responsible for this mess will fix things, at least to the point that they _are_ fixable. For once, you will leave things to me." She held up her hand. "Not a _word_ …..go."

And it was perhaps the most astonishing thing of all that Rose obeyed her.

~~oo~~

Rhett received a note at his place of business that his wife, Mrs. Butler, was in the waiting area. A young clerk showed her into his office, and asked if she desired tea, or any other refreshments. She declined graciously. Once he had left, and she had seated herself on the elegant leather chair in front of Rhett's desk, she gave a brief and succinct account of the morning's events, her conversation with the boys, and her encounter with Rose. Then she held up her hand to prevent him from commenting.

Her husband bit back whatever he had been about to say, and waited silently for her to continue. There was an unsettled air about her that boded ill.

"Now you know what happened. And first thing tomorrow morning, _you_ are going to ride over to Beau Wilkes to call off the engagement," Scarlett said, gathering momentum. "You're going to tell him she's too young to marry. Which is perfectly true, if you think about it! That you will, in fact, not permit her to marry _anyone_ until she's eighteen, and has had a chance to get to know her own heart. You will apologize for Beau's pain, and the scandal, and offer what restitution you can, but you will stand firm should they attempt to persuade you to reconsider."

"Will I?" her husband asked, with some surprise at this unexpected volley. "I believed as of this morning that you were you were in favor of this match…..at least more in favor than ….."

"I was," Scarlett replied, darkly. "I've been sitting here, thinking about it while I waited for you, because it really makes no sense! I never wanted her to marry a Wilkes…God's Nightgown! A Wilkes of all people! And as for Thad …..Thad risked his life for my family when he wasn't much older than Rose is now. And even after his break with you, he's invited the children to the Ranch… supported Wade …..been a true friend in every sense of the word. So _why_, I asked myself, was I feeling squeamish at the thought of him marrying Rose? I, who never gave a damn about society, or what anyone else would think? I, who saw immediately that Will was the best thing that ever happened to Suellen even though he was born a Cracker? Why did it matter all of a sudden what _they _would think of my daughter marrying a man of low birth? And what's worse….why did I put Rose, and myself, into that position in the first place? Had we stayed in Texas, no one would have _cared_ who he is. We were happy there. He could have married her once she was old enough, which is what I'm sure he was planning to do. And despite of what I've been telling you, telling myself - deep down I knew how they felt about each other, even then. So why did I insist we come here?"

"I am waiting anxiously to be enlightened," said her husband. Surprisingly, there was no mockery in his tone. It was the voice of a prisoner at the bar, waiting to hear a long-overdue verdict.

"It was because of _you,"_ his wife said, with a soft ferocity. "I told myself I was moving us back to Charleston because of the plan Rosemary and I had made to marry Ella and Chad, but that was merely the pretext. It was because of you. You see, even after all these years, I still hear it, that little speech you gave me when you left me in Atlanta. After everything that happened, I was desperate to show you you could have the gentle grace of the Old Days _with me_. Accepted in to the best society …living a quiet, genteel life amongst the people of your birth. Your daughter married into the best families, just like you said you wanted for Bonnie. And I was afraid Texas just wasn't _good enough_ for you. Because I could see it, you know, that small part of you, that was still watching ….waiting for me to slip up and prove to you that nothing had changed, that it wasn't worth it after all. Oh, don't look so shocked. You still think I'm the little fool you married, that didn't know the first thing about people. Or you."

Perhaps Rhett's seemingly deliberate silence enraged her further. "As for Thad …_you_ decided that you couldn't take any more blood on your precious hands, and you decided to break out Thomas Whiting before his trial to save his life. But did you ever consider he wasn't _your_ life to save? It wasn't your girl he had killed! You had no right to make that decision without talking to Thad – just because _you_ couldn't take it! He might have seen things your way, had you given him half a chance! But instead you took away the only thing that he's ever relied on, the trust in the man that he'd loved like a father. And don't give me that speech about the wonderful work Thomas has done keeping alive the flame of Negro rights, because I'm not interested!"

"I wasn't going to," her husband said, softly.

"And don't even get me started about Rose!" Scarlett cried, without heeding him in the least." Because, you know, none of this is about _you_ anymore. You were so wrapped up in your grief about Bonnie, and your fear, and whatever else you told yourself to justify your self-indulgence, that you messed up both Rose and Thad to the point where they can't trust the person they love, or even their own instincts. Not that I don't blame myself just as bitterly, for chasing after phantoms once again … to the point where I almost sacrificed my daughter's happiness. Well, I am _done _now." The green eyes flashed eerily. "A long time ago, when we formally reconciled in Galveston, you told me 'I don't know' when I asked you if you'd chose me, if you were still free to chose. Only now does it occur to me that you've never amended that statement …. that you just _consumed _the years of happiness, and the family that I gave you, without ever removing that dagger from over my head. I deserve better than that. But luckily for you, it isn't about _me_, either, and as I've said, if there's blame to go around, I'm certainly due my fair share! The person that really deserves better, is Rose."

She rose regally, taking a few rapid steps forward. The hem of her dress caught the corner of the chair, and she smiled grimly, ripping it off with a sharp movement. She disregarded the tear in the fabric with little more than a shrug. Before she left the room, she turned around once more. "This is _our_ mess. And honestly - it's mostly y_our_ mess, Rhett Butler. Now fix it."

And the door slammed behind her. The clerks within earshot exchanged awed glances as she stormed out.

~~oo~~

"Dan." The boy, the only member of the family who had heretofore avoided being embroiled in the drama, was caught just as he attempted to slide back up the stairs.

"What," he said, somewhat uneasily. Dan greatly preferred amphibians to the volatile emotions that were floating around the house. Thankfully, his elder brother didn't require much of him.

"Is Rose in her room?"

"I think so."

"Thanks." Wade passed him quickly up the curved stairway, walked to the end of the hallway, and knocked. He received no answer. He hadn't expected one. He opened the door.

His sister was curled up on her bed, her wild hair cascading about her still form like waves over an unruly sea. "Rosey".

"What." Her lips barely seemed to move as she spoke.

"May I sit?"

"Did Mom send you?"

"Dad, actually." He moved lightly forward, and jumped over her to lie next to her, as he had often done when she was a little girl, to read her stories, or talk if she couldn't fall asleep.

"Hiding behind you again, is he."

Wade laughed, but without real mirth. "No, for once, I don't think so. He came by to talk to me in my office an hour ago ….and a pretty uncomfortable talk it was." He turned on his side, facing her back. "Listen, Rosey. Phoebe always tells me I don't understand the first thing about girls, and I'm afraid she's right, at least when it comes to you. I never had any idea who you're sweet on. I thought it was Beau all this time, but both Phoebe and Dad tell me you're really in love with Thad. Is that true?"

Her silence was his answer. He sighed. "Rosey, the real reason Dad wanted me to talk to you is because he intends to go visit Beau tomorrow, and call off the engagement. He wants to make sure you'll not protest out of a misplaced sense of duty or obligation, and felt it would be better coming from me – because I'm Beau's friend, and his cousin, and would also have his best interest at heart."

She still didn't answer.

"Rosey, you'll do no man a favor if you wed him with a heart already given to another. Least of all Beau. He's a good man, a kind man, and he deserves better than that. You both deserve better." He shook her shoulder, lightly, and she finally turned around. He pulled the dark head against his chest, ruffling the black curls. "Dad told me about Cherry. Really, Rose. What were you thinking?"

She snorted, the sound muffled against his chest. "What was I thinking?"

He smiled. "Yes. You know how Thad and I feel about James. The idea that we would do anything to…."

The head lifted, and stared at him with speculative wonder. "What do you mean, _we_?"

He grinned, sheepishly. "Well…"

"_Speak_."

He tried to laugh. "Cherry fancied herself in love with _me_, a few years back, when we were still in Galveston."

The black crescents rose. "What did she do?"

"Let's just say …she gave me an uncomfortable moment or two, way back then."

"Really." Rose turned around, and laid her head back on his chest. She had to laugh.

"Yes," he grinned, happy to find her good humor restored. "Really."

"You could have said something."

He pulled on a curl. "This isn't the sort of thing a man usually discusses with his baby sister."

"I guess not," she giggled. "But Cherry….."

"She grew up with us," he said. "Thad and I were practically the only young men she saw regularly for long stretches of time, outside of her family. Why wouldn't she fall in love with us?"

"But….."

"Yes. And?" He pulled her curls again.

She sighed. "I understand. At least I think I do. But when I think of her going into Thad's room, I …..still want to gauge her eyes out!"

"Which brings us back to the topic." His tone turned serious again. "Rosey, a blind man could see how Thad feels about you. But you're awfully young, and mother's had you coped up in this …place ….for far too long. Remember when you used to want to do something with your life? Before we came here, you often said you wanted to become a doctor. Whatever happened to that?"

"I don't know," she said, her body stiffening. "I haven't thought about it."

"Well, think about it now. Dad feels ….and mother, for what it's worth ….that you shouldn't marry anyone for the time being. Go to school – learn a profession. You were never meant to be a housewife. I've often worried about you, what being here has done to your spirit. I could see you were getting along better with Dad, and tried to throw all your energies into fashion, and turning out Charlotte, but you were never….yourself. Only recently, with Thad here, did you have that spark again, even though you were mostly rude to him. As Phoebe said, it must be love. And if he really loves you, he'll wait for you to be ready."

"Mother….wants me to go to school? Mother?"

"Yes, she told me so herself," Wade said. "Europe might be a good choice. You'll get a chance to see something different, and get away from the busybodies when the news of the broken engagement hits. Dad has that doctor friend in Atlanta, doesn't he – Dr. Harrison. He might be able to help when it comes to choosing a school." He kissed her. "Think about it, and let Dad know. "

"I will."

He rose, and tickled her lightly before hopping out of the bed. She laughed … the first light, free laugh he had heard her make for years. Something inside of him uncoiled at the sound.

"Wade," she called, before he opened the door.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

~~oo~~

He found her in bed, eyes-red rimmed, an unopened magazine on her lap. She looked up when he entered. He walked over to her side of the bed, and looked down at her, silently.

Scarlett attempted a watery smile. "I'm sorry," she said, before he could say anything. "I didn't mean to throw all that at you all at once. And I didn't mean it. That is, I did mean it. But not like…"

He sat down next to her, and pulled her onto his lap. "I understand," he said, gently. "What you said was the distilled version of almost twenty years' worth of isolated moments – it wasn't how you felt every minute of every day. But it was enough, apparently, to make you want to come back here, and land us in this mess. _You_ say I've never amended my statement of studied ambiguity, that I made many years ago. Rose said something similar to me not too long ago - that I was... _hedging my bets_. With both of you. And she wasn't wrong, at least when it came to her. However, I've long since stopped hedging my bets with you, my love." He kissed her head softly, and continued in a low voice, "Rose also accused me of being a coward in matters of the heart, and that is unfortunately quite true. Because the one thing I've never done …..which would have avoided our current predicament in its entirety …. is to tell you." He lay his cheek against the dark, flowing hair, and tightened his hold.

She sniffed, and smiled under her tears. "You could have written, too. Or sang a song. I'm not particular."

"I'll have to remember." He pulled up her chin, and kissed her. "I love you."

"Don't think for a minute you're off the hook because of your sweet-talking ways, Rhett Butler," she murmured, as she allowed him full access to her lips, and his roving hands access to….. "_You still have to fix things_."

He smiled his old rakish smile as he pulled them both down on the bed. "I know."

~~oo~~

Much later, he was watching her sleeping form curled up under the covers. He gently moved a stray tendril of black hair from her closed eyes. Then he softly left the room, and walked downstairs into the dark library. The yellow setter on the rug lifted his head when he entered, but almost immediately started snoring again. Rhett turned on the light, and sat down at the cherry wood desk. He composed a brief letter to his friend William Harrison in Atlanta, asking about medical schools in Europe willing to accept female students. When he had finished, he did not arise, but instead remained seated, staring into the shadows.

There was one other thing he had to do.

He pulled out a fresh piece of paper, and with his precise, firm script, began to compose a letter to Texas.


	12. After Many A Summer

_Thank you once more for the lovely reviews, and your thoughts and ideas. As per request, I didn't just skip over to Europe with Rose ...you were right, poor Beau deserves his due. As does poor Wade, who is also having a bad day. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

Wade walked into the comfortable brownstone on East Battery an hour later than was his want. His wife came out of the parlor to greet him, her mint-colored walking dress accentuating her pretty, light figure.

"You're late," she said, her blue-green eyes reflecting concern. It was a rare occurrence, and never without a good reason.

"Don't ask,' he said, kissing her. He felt the fatigue of the evening start to recede before the familiar comforts of his home.

"The kids are already sleeping,' Phoebe said. She handed him a glass of wine. "Sit and tell me about ….whatever it was that kept you. In the meantime, I'll have Molly warm up supper."

She rang for the maid, and then sat down at the dinner table across from him, fixing her eyes on him expectantly.

"I went to see Rose," he said, and from his tone, she could tell it had not been a visit of pleasure. He drank a sip of the dark liquid, gathering his thoughts. She waited him out without showing any signs of impatience. "Dad asked me to see her. Because ….well….you were correct."

"I usually am," she laughed, but there was compassion in her face for his obvious distress. "What was I correct about?"

"She's not in love with Beau."

"Of course not," she agreed. "I knew from the first moment she mentioned her cousin. She was much too dismissive to be as disinterested as she tried to appear."

"Well, I didn't see it," Wade said heavily. "Or I would never have let it come this far. Dad wants to ride over to the Wilkes' tomorrow morning and formally cry off, but I just can't bear the thought of Beau finding out so officially, and so coldly. He's been so….happy these last few weeks. And Dad …well, let's just say he didn't exactly sound broken-hearted. I understand that he thinks of Thad as a son, and has had a rather …..checkered history with the Wilkes, and of course Rose shouldn't marry Beau under those circumstances. But I can't help but feel for Beau as well. "

Molly arrived with supper, which she placed before Wade with sparse movements and a smile.

"Odd, that Rose accepted him," Phoebe wondered aloud, after Molly had left the room. "Or that she couldn't see that he loves her, too, that wild cousin of hers. Every time he looked at her I wanted to laugh, because he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether he wanted to shake her, or eat her up with his eyes. " She shook her head. "Poor communication between all interested parties."

"Now _that_ is an understatement," Wade said, in between chewing his roast and yams. "But honestly, communication has never been the strong suit of my family. Mother and Dad are much better than they used to be, but Rose ….well, Rose keeps her cards close to her chest. "

"She's but a youn'un, as my Daddy used to say," Phoebe smiled, putting her chin on her hands and watching him. "She'll learn."

"Dad got quite a bit worse before he got better,' Wade replied, somewhat morosely. "She's a lot like him, you know, for all that she looks like Mother. All shiny surfaces and deflection."

"Ah, it isn't the lack of _skills_, necessarily. That young man …Thad …actually explains himself quite well when he's not wound up," Phoebe said. "I sat next to him at dinner the first night he came, you know, and asked him this and that out of curiosity."

"What did you think?"

"He's much more experienced than he lets on. And has a nice way of seeing people as - just people. There's not too many who'd talk to the house staff as he does, as if he were one of them. Yet they took no liberties. Makes me wish I'd have gotten over my silly preconceptions sooner. We could have seen more of him, when we were still in Houston." She shook her head at herself, and added teasingly, "And he's got the look of one that likes and understands women. That never hurts."

"He didn't understand Rose."

"Oh, most men have blinders on where they love. Didn't your father? Quite a discerning man himself, you'll agree, but if half of what you tell me about your parent's history is accurate, he misread your mother more than once when he should have known better."

"Remember that I get most of my insights from Rose, who wasn't even around, and should probably be burned at the stake!" He sighed. "No, you're right. Dad and Thad can both talk to anyone at their level, Duke or chimney sweep, and have an excellent sense of people, except when it matters. " He pushed his empty plates aside, and chuckled. "So you liked him? Thad, I mean. Perhaps I should grow my hair longer as well…."

She punched him on the shoulder. "I like your hair just the way it is."

"Good. I was starting to get jealous." he teased.

"Don't be silly," she admonished lightly. "I am perfectly happy with the husband I have, thank you very much. I for one am not made for such intense drama….or whatever it is Rose and Thad have going on between them. It seems to bring more unhappiness than anything, and not just for them." She kissed him. "Now go ride over to Beau and tell him about Rose. If it must be said, it should come from someone who loves him. But give Chuck a kiss before you go, I promised him you would so he'd go to sleep."

He clasped her hand gratefully. He kissed his son, and peeked in on the baby. Then he returned into the night.

~~oo~~

An hour later, Wade sat with an increasingly drunk Beau at a bar two blocks from the townhouse the Wilkes were occupying. The hour was late, and it was a weeknight, so most of the regular patrons had already left. Wade had made several attempts to encourage his cousin to drink up and come home, but Beau seemed determined to linger, and was becoming increasingly incoherent. He had seen Beau intoxicated before, over the course of several years at Harvard, but rarely to this extent. He sighed, and tried not to let his discomfort show on his face.

"I still can't believe she would do this to me," Beau mumbled.

Wade sighed again. He had stressed Rose's youth by the way of explanation, but of course Beau had immediately suspected there was more to the tale than he'd let on. As he played with his drink, Wade tried unsuccessfully to forget the expression on his friend's face when he had first arrived. Thankfully, Ashley Wilkes had been out. Wade would have hated to explain himself to both of them.

"Has something happened? Is Rose all right?" Beau had asked, swift fear rising in his eyes when he caught sight of his cousin.

"She's fine. However, what I have to tell you pertains to her." He'd paused, trying to gather himself for what he knew he must say. "My father intended to tell you tomorrow, but I didn't want you to find out like ….."

"He's changed his mind about allowing the match," Beau had guessed, with sudden wrath. "Why, I'll show him….." But he'd stopped, as Wade shook his head.

Beau had paled even further. "_Rose_ is crying off?" He'd paused, trying helplessly to wrap his mind around this information. "There's someone else, isn't there," he'd said, finally. "That obnoxious cousin of hers. If I ever get my hands on him again I'll…."

"For the time being, she's to go to Europe for medical school," Wade had interrupted gently. He'd wished vainly he were somewhere, anywhere but here. His inherently just nature had compassion for all parties, but he couldn't help but fault Thad – the eldest and, as Phoebe had correctly pointed out, the most experienced – more heavily than his young sister, or his almost equally naïve friend.

He had dragged him to this bar, and tried his best to draw some of the poison from the wound. "I'm not sure Rose knows what or whom she wants right now," he'd said softly. "I certainly didn't at her age, so I don't rightly know why a girl should. It'll do her good to get away for a while, and sort herself out, like we did at Harvard. At any rate, she's the kind of person that needs a purpose, and she's always professed an interest in medicine." He cast about for anything else he could say, but his mind blanked. He lightly touched his cousin's shoulder. "Beau. I know it's much too early to hear me, but you may come to be glad of this night's work. I love Rose dearly, and she's striking to look at, but she isn't my idea of a comfortable wife. Got too much of Dad in her. You remember how he was, when we were still living in Atlanta. One never knew what to make of him, or what he really felt, and that rarely works out well when two people are trying to build a life together."

Even as he said them, Wade knew the words would prove futile – as futile as it would have been to warn away the admirers of Scarlett O'Hara at sixteen. His thoughts turned briefly to that damsel, whose living representation he had just visited, and recalled one of her conquests in particular- that long-lost father that he knew so little about. Who, unlike Beau, had died before he could learn that his dream had been naught but a mirage.

"To Halifax with all the O'Hara women!" Wade thought, borrowing his mother's favorite epithet.

Then he sighed, and settled down on his chair for what he knew would be a very long night.

~~oo~~

Roughly a week later and more than one thousand miles away from the Butler residence in Charleston, Belle Watling was sitting in the large, comfortable kitchen of the main house of her son's ranch. Its style was distinct from the ornate town house and office building he maintained in Houston, with furniture carved from local _mesquite_ wood of rose-colored hues, colorful carpets and woven baskets he'd brought back from the Alabama-Coushatta reservation and dotted all over the house. It was a warm, friendly, if somewhat impersonal space.

She observed her son walk in, obviously dressed to go out.

"Off to see that pretty widow, Mrs. Schafer, again?" his mother asked. "Now that you've run outta kindling to chop and fences to mend.

He didn't answer, and she hadn't expected him to. He had never confided in her in the eight years that they had shared living quarters, but it was impossible for someone of her past to miss the frozen look on his face, or the tension in his frame. She hoped the tall woman with whom he'd had a long-standing _arrangement_ would be able to give him some comfort, if that was indeed where he was headed.

"You never did go in much for my sort," she mused, almost as if speaking to herself. "I suppose growin' up with us made you see us for what we are."

"Yes," he said, with the twist to his lips that he'd been wearing since he'd returned from Charleston. "As women."

She sighed. "Andres brought the mail. It's on the table." She had never learned to read, and relied on her son for her correspondence. She watched him as he sifted through the pile, and suddenly start in surprise.

"I'll be out," he said, briefly, that one letter in his hand. Minutes later, she heard the sounds of a horse at sharp trot fading into the distance.

~~oo~~

He tied the grey gelding to the post by the lake. It was fairly warm, but too early in the year for the migrating egrets, herons and sandpipers to have returned from their winter quarters. The shore was empty except for a flock of hardy sparrows begging for breadcrumbs. He wondered briefly, if he should go elsewhere, to avoid contaminating this peaceful hiding spot with what he was sure would be the content of this letter. But the emotional exhaustion of the past few weeks tugged on his limbs, filling them with lead, keeping him in place. He attempted vainly to cram his mind with the serenity of the soft waves over the silky water. Finally, he knelt down, and with firm, precise movements, opened the letter. For a moment, the words threatened to swim before his eyes.

_Thad_, it began, in his uncle's unmistakable script,

_It is perhaps a bad omen that my pen hesitates already, my mind imagining this paper crumpled up and tossed aside before you've gotten past the first line. We are both proud to our detriment, although in many ways that censure applies most heavily to myself._

_Rose will not marry Beau. Like Napoleon, I will attempt to lead with my strongest arsenal, and hope it will be sufficient to capture your attention for what is to follow. I won't burden you with the long-winded tale of puerile espionage that led to the discovery of her motives, but suffice it to say Rose was aware Cherry had gone to your room that night, albeit not how briefly. That has now been changed, and with it, her sentiments towards a match entered into, I am sure, mostly from desperation._

_You will say that she should have had faith. But do not judge her too harshly, Thad. My own history with both her mother and herself has given her no occasion to trust in the fidelity of men, and she is too young to perceive the nuances and distinctions of the complex network of loyalties that govern our actions. And it was only today that I learned my blame goes even deeper. Had Scarlett trusted __me__ completely, she would never have installed us in this world of shades that I'd left behind in my youth for a reason, nor forced Rose into a play with predetermined lines she believed she had no choice but to recite. _

_We plan to take her to Europe for a few years, to study medicine - and to grow up. I leave it to your heart and your judgment, whether you are willing and able to wait for her. I pray that you will, at the least, be able to evade the acrid path of bitterness that I trod for so many years after meeting a spirited young belle at a barbeque, whose hold on my heart I resented. As you know, I boast neither faith nor confessor, but that mere fact has not kept me from sin._

_It was good to see you again, Thad - no matter how briefly. Midnight has long struck on the clock in the library, and Dan's grey cat is ever more forcefully demanding my chair, so I will close for tonight. Presuming your leave, I will continue the correspondence at the next opportunity. Perhaps together we can unravel the twisted threads of our history, and come, if not to full understanding, at least to some sort of healing. I regret that I was unable to do so in the past. I pray that life and maturity have finally given me the courage to speak frankly. I will leave you to be the final arbiter of my success. _

_I remain, as always,_

_Your affectionate Uncle,_

_Rhett _

Thad read the letter again. And then again. After the third perusal, he would have been able to recite it from memory. If there was a tiny flicker of elation in his heart, it died before he allowed himself to feel it. He had jettisoned too many hopes over the last few weeks, spurred by what he'd believed to be the deafening finality of his loss. As with most people who have been at once deprived and over-stimulated as children, there were hidden drawers in his brain into which unwelcome emotions could be stuffed, tangled like socks, and made difficult to retrieve.

His hand balled into a fist, crushing the letter. His right arm pulled back like a baseball player's, and then shot forward, releasing it, tossing it towards the water. Its lack of mass made it drop to the ground after only about twenty feet, and he watched the wind toss it to and fro between the rocks, before it finally caught on a bramble. He thought about retrieving it, burning it, tossing it into the water again, but was unwilling cede it that much importance.

He turned back to his horse, and swung himself back into the saddle. A few seconds later, the sound of hoof beats echoed once more over the water.


	13. Battles in the Shade

_Thank you again for your thoughts and reviews. Guests ….I think Thad will come around. Stubborn and proud people need time! Dixie, I loved your cultural musings as usual. I want to address this point in particular: would being educated as a doctor make Rose even less accessible to Thad? The answer is: Probably quite the opposite. The profession of medicine at the end of the 19__th__ century was not then what it is now. Education was haphazard, often unregulated, and its status and standing as a profession was at an all-time low (which you can see because it started to admit women. Every time a profession's standing/pay falls, it suddenly becomes overrun by women. Case in point: teachers. Case in point: Modern medicine (the four lowest paying specialties, pediatrics, family medicine, psychiatry and internal medicine) are dominated by females, and the highest paying ones dominated by males. And back then, educated women were not desirable marriage partners for "the best society". So Rose is actually hurting herself, socially. Which may be good for him. ;-) Hope you enjoy!_

_PS: I just realized I cut the end off when I copy-pasted it into the forum. Sorry about that._

* * *

_Oh foreigner, tell the Lacedaemonians_

_That here we lie, obeying those words_.

The grey gelding trotted into the circular space before the stables. Thad jumped down, threw a rope over the horse's neck, and tied it in a looped knot to one of the iron rings by the wall. Then, with determination, he strode up to the green-eyed boy waiting in front of the house, surrounded by a sea of suitcases and boxes.

The boy was craning his neck, turning this way and that, to take in the corral and the riding ring and the duck pond.

"Perry," Thad said, darkly, when he'd come close enough. "How in hell did _you_ get here?"

"Railroad, " Perry said, briefly. "James brought me. And Jim too. They're in the house."

Thad took a deep breath. "I understand the method of your arrival. What I don't understand is …_why _are you here?"

"Dad felt it'd do me good to do some pisical labor. Cuz I was bad all year." Perry said, cheerfully, still looking about with interest, his bright eyes latching onto a mare with a month-old foal gawkily attempting to sort out its legs. "They're going to Europe, you know," he confided, looking back up at Thad through his thick lashes. "Dropping Rose off, and then travelling. Churches, and museums, and dull things like that, Dad says. I don't believe I should like it by half. I'd much rather be here and help _you_."

"How fortunate," his cousin observed with laudable equanimity. "So you're here for….how long?"

"Dad didn't say," the boy replied, happily. "They'll send for me once they're done with the museums. Which may take a while, Dad says. "

"I see. And let me guess - you've been told not to let me out of your sight."

Perry nodded enthusiastically. "Dad says he's countin' on me to stick close to you, and learn everything I can. Just in case I change my mind 'bout bein' a pirate." He turned his limpid gaze on his cousin, his face –so much like Rose's! –glowed with thoughts of horses, and cows, and the absence of arithmetic. "Aren't you glad I came?"

"Couldn't be more delighted," said Thad dryly. "Urbes constituit aetas, hora dissolvit."

"What?"

"Nothing. But remind me never to underestimate your father again." He reached out and lightly ruffled the dark curls. "Now come into the house and wash up, varmint. Mother made crêpes, and if you behave, I'll share."

~~oo~~

The scandal had been every bit as juicy as expected, helped little by the almost immediate departure of the Wilkes back to Boston. It was difficult to say what enticed the wagging tongues more – the fact that Rose Butler had cried off from such a desirable engagement, or that her father was permitting her to travel to Scotland to study medicine. Medicine! Who would have thought that Rose Butler, of all people, would turn out to be a blue-stocking? Even more damaging was the overall consensus that the Butlers cared _very little_ about what was being said _by all the nicest people_ - which was doubly insulting.

The letter had arrived from Atlanta with Dr. Harrison's recommendations, and after much discussions, and transatlantic correspondence, including a flurry of telegraphs, the choice had fallen on Queen Margaret's Medical College in Glasgow. Dr. Harrison knew the Dean personally, and one of Rhett's former blockading colleague, a congenial Scott by the name of Gowan McIntyre, had settled there with his family after the war. In response to Rhett's inquiry, he had written an amiable letter that he and his wife would be delighted to have Rose stay with them for the entire duration of her studies.

Scarlett - who had dreaded exposing her daughter to the dangers of a foreign boarding house even more than being stuck in what she imagined as _gloomy and perilous Scottish mountains_ - was much relieved.

"Glasgow is not in the Highlands, mother. It's in the Lowlands. _Low_ means no mountains," Rose had commented, helpfully.

"But you can't tell me it isn't dangerous. Your father was saying something about a wild people in Scotland who paint their faces blue, so…"

Rose rolled her eyes. "He meant the _Picts_, mother. And they haven't been around as a cultural entity since, oh …about 1000 AD."

"Well," her mother said, "it isn't _America_!"

And there was no arguing with that.

~~oo~~

An argument _had _sprung up when Rhett insisted on sending Perry to Texas. His doting mother, much opposed to the idea, did her best to dissuade him, but met with no success.

"It will be good for him," Rhett had laughed, merely grinning when she attempted to press him for a reason. Perry, who viewed Europe as a prisoner might view solitary confinement, had fully supported his father's point of view. So they had parted, merely a few weeks later, towards opposite ends of the globe.

The days on the steam-boat were spent in relative harmony. The only excitement was provided by Dan and Gerry, whose tendency to explore into places off limits for passengers were the bane of the captain, the crew, and their long-suffering governess. The crew also, perhaps unfairly, blamed the dis- and subsequent reappearance of certain small objects in odd places on those two would-be pirates, but as they were never caught in the act, there was little to be done about it.

Rose, whose friendship with Cherry had undergone a significant chill, spent much of her time reading the textbooks Dr. Harrison had provided her with, or simply staring into space.

"Did you ever write Thad?" her mother asked one evening as they both stood by the railing.

"No."

"But why not?"

"What should I say," Rose enquired, with some derision. _"I didn't trust you, and accepted another man's proposal a mere two days after you left -but obligingly put your life on hold for me for another two years or so, while I figure myself out?"_

"Well, no," Scarlett admitted, somewhat helplessly. "But after all, you didn't marry him! Beau, I mean. At the very least, Thad deserves to know that."

"I'm sure Perry will tell him," Rose said, with chilling finality.

"Yes, her mother said, with a sudden smirk. "_I'm sure he will_."

When she wasn't studying, or staring into space, Rose was watching Rhett.

Watched him escort Scarlett to dinner, watched the slight hesitancy in his expression at times when he observed her mother, the guarded look that was, had Rose known it, a cousin of his old cat-before-a-mouse-hole expression. Before, it had searched for her mother's love. Now, it seemed to wait, as if in secret dread, for some unknown verdict.

"Were you….. _brave,_ by any chance Daddy?" his daughter wanted to know one evening, when he came into her cabin to call her to dinner after she'd finished dressing up. One dark eyebrow arched on the perfect ivory forehead.

"Why do you ask?" he said.

"You seem ….skittish. Like an animal that has lost its shelter."

He laughed. "An apt analogy. But yes. I actually believe I _was_ brave, for once."

"Uncomfortable, isn't it."

His dark eyes laughed at her. "Very." He pulled a dark curl. "And you?"

"Still as cowardly as ever," she smirked.

"I'm sorry," he said, evenly, matching her tone. "You know how much I wished things had gone differently for you and Thad, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, softly. "Don't refine too much upon it, Daddy. I'm not a big believer in the power of misunderstandings. When they happen, they happen for a reason – and that reason is usually that people don't _want_ to clear them up. Because they fear success almost as much as they fear failure. "

"Do you think so? Your mother and I certainly had moments where we…."

She gave him a strange look. "Daddy. Neither of you could have tolerated a close and intimate relationship at that time. You needed _decades_ of growth to be able to _talk_ properly … and even more decades until you were now, finally able to say 'I'm all in.' _You_ would never had hidden your love for all those years had you been ready – and _she _would never have failed to recognize hers for so long."

"Harsh, but not implausible," he said. "And what about Thad and yourself? Do the misunderstandings mean you aren't _ready_, either?"

She gave him another look, but didn't answer.

~~oo~~

After installing her comfortably with Rhett's friends in Glasgow, her family travelled on to the Continent. Overall, the Butler's Italian tour left little to be desired in terms of diversion for both tourists and locals. Gerry had almost drowned trying to climb a sea-facing city wall in Naples ("taking '_see Naples and die'_ a little too literally,' his father had said, after fishing him out), and Dan had barely escaped breaking his neck chasing a new species of spotted salamander to the top of the Coliseum in Rome. (A very similar salamander turned up later that day in the bed of a neighboring hotel guest, but Dan vehemently denied any connection.)

"I'm not sure why some people make so much of history," Scarlett said, frankly, getting ready for bed in a snug hotel in Florence. "Especially these ruins! One would think they would either repair them properly, or tear them down. I will admit," she added, "the churches in Rome are pretty, and the pictures at the Sixteenth Chapel (sic) are quite grand, even though my neck was stiff for days from trying to stare up at the ceiling! One would think it would have been better to paint them somewhere else. And put a picture-frame around them. But all in all, I liked Italy better than I thought I would. However," she said with a shudder, "promise me you will not take me back to that place with the pigeons. I swear those dratted birds ruined at least _three_ of my best dresses. Not to mention the stench of those waterways! And with Gerry shaking those wobbly little boats so much every time we went anywhere, I feared we were all going to drown before we got out!"

"I am quite sure the Gondoliers of Venice wouldn't weep too bitterly if we didn't return," her husband said comfortably. "Or if we do, at least did not bring Gerry. One rarely sees the sturdy people of that aquatic profession turn green in the face, but …."

"He is becoming as bad as Perry," the young man's mother said, severely. "I'd hoped that without his brother to goad him, he would settle down, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. And Dan is becoming alarmingly self-directed as well. All of your children," she said, with thundering finality, "take after _you_!"

"Obviously. After all, you were such a sweet, biddable child," her husband agreed.

"Well, no!" she admitted, and swiftly changed tack. "I _am_ looking forward to the _scandalous _statue you've been telling me about, that we'll be seeing tomorrow. The Romans must have been a very ….. open-minded people. Miss Addy has already told me she intends to remain behind with the boys, because she fears it may be too much for her sensibilities! Imagine setting up such a thing in Atlanta, or Charleston for that matter! Can you imagine the faces?"

"Not the Romans, my love. The sculpture of David was made by Michelangelo," her husband laughed. "Early 1500s." He had enjoyed taking Scarlett about a country that he loved. Even though the trip couldn't avoid but highlight all of her glaring deficits in formal education, it had also showcased her strengths: her sincere, unvarnished delight in the things that moved her.

"Oh! But that was long ago as well. And when we're done with history, I am looking forward to Paris!"

~~oo~~

Perry found Thad kneeling by the fireplace, after having turned over the embers with long iron tongues. He was motionless, staring into space.

"Are you… sad?"

Thad turned his head. The green eyes staring at him beneath the mop of dark hair were more scrutinizing than strictly empathetic. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Dad said I should remind you of Rose if you were feelin' sad. Although I don't know why _that_ should help," his young cousin asserted, with refreshing candor. "After all, she's just a _girl_."

Thad shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. The most regrettable victim of his bitterness - his sense of irony - had made an unexpected recovery. "Per. You've completely ruined my Byronesque moment." He rose lightly, and turned, his face serious again. "Sometimes it _does_ help to be reminded of a girl, Per. Sometimes it doesn't. And sometimes one doesn't know either way. Today is one of those days."

Perry nodded, not comprehending a thing. He wrinkled his forehead, and laid his head to one side. "Can I ask you something, Cousin Thad? Do you ….._like_ Rose?"

Thad didn't reply for a moment, and then said, gently, "how do you mean?"

"You know. Like …for a wife."

Thad laughed. "The idea seems odd to you, doesn't it."

"Yes," Perry said, wrinkling his nose. "Rose is…..bossy. You know. Like a _sister_."

"All sisters are bossy – or so I'm told. I've never met mine. And most women are someone's sister, so you can't really judge her by that, can you? But if _you_ were to marry, Per, what would you look for in a wife?"

"She'd have to be pretty, " Perry said, swiftly. "Like Mother. Mother is the prettiest woman in the whole world. And she'd have to smell nice. And bake lots of crêpes like Auntie Belle." He looked at Thad. "Those are good things, yes?"

"Yes," Thad said, doing his best not to smile. "Those are excellent qualities, Per. I'm sure you'll chose a fine wife when you're ready."

"Oh, and she can't be 'fraid of toads," the boy confided. "I'm afraid Dan might try to scare her if she is, you know."

"Will you still be living with Dan?"

"Of course," Perry said, with supreme confidence. "I would never live anywhere without Dan."

"Then you had better test her for toads. Just to be safe."

"Rose hates toads," Perry reported with some contempt, and threw a glance at Thad, as if to assess if this information had injured her in his eyes. Finding no confirmation, he walked over to the side table, on which a book lay open. "What are you reading?"

"About a battle in a far away country called Greece. They were attacked by a people called the Persians."

"What happened?"

"Everybody died."

"Why?"

"Because they allowed themselves to be trapped in a bad spot, and were quite outnumbered by the enemy."

"How silly," denounced Perry. "I would have told them not to do it."

"They didn't even listen to one of their greatest Generals," Thad said. "It happens that way sometimes."

"Why are people write books about a battle where everybody died?"

Thad laughed. "Good question, Per. It was heroic, I suppose. Men like heroic deeds. These men _chose_ to die, because they believed in something greater than themselves. Honor. The law of their city. Freedom, perhaps. Although it's sometimes hard to tell what that means."

"Some of Mother's friends are like that. They still talk about that war that happened long ago, _before I was even born,_ and get all 'xcited. Why are people stupid, Cousin Thad?"

"Men will always be stupid, Per. About girls, and about battles. I'm not sure I know why, myself."

"'Cause they like spears, and crêpes." Perry said.

Thad laughed his full, warm laugh. "Yes. Because they like spears, and crêpes." He held out his hand. "Now come to bed."

They marched through several hallways to the bedrooms. Thad had installed him in the small bedroom off the master suite, which was connected by a separate door, and had instructed a pack of large, cozy dogs to curl around a boy unused to sleeping alone, but too proud to admit to fear. As he tucked him in, Perry mumbled, sleepily, "tomorrow you can tell me more 'bout battles. Do you know one with monsters in it that chew up people?"

"I'll tell you a story of an enormous monster with six heads, that tries to eat up everyone on a big ship", Thad promised.

"Ok. And _giants_."

"Giants, too. With only one eye. And beautiful sirens who attempt to sing sailors to their death, and how a man named Odysseus outsmarts them. Now go to sleep, you bloodthirsty creature."

He waited for the sleepy: "goody!" before closing the door behind him. "Good night."

Thad leaned his head against the door-frame, briefly closing his eyes. _How is a man supposed to put a girl out of his mind if her face follows him around all day in the shape of a boisterous ten-year-old?_

_Right,_ he thought, grimly. _That was the idea._


	14. Darkness

_Thank you again for all your wonderful thoughts and reviews. They brighten up my day considerably. Welcome to the new readers of the forum – wonderful to have you here. There's so many great stories for you to find! Anna, I will definitely have them travel around more, possibly Greece as well (how can they miss Greece?). But that will be described in the next chapter. As many of you wanted to hear more about Belle's role now that she is "retired", and more about Chase and Ella, and Phoebe and Wade, they will all be in this (rather dark) chapter. I imagine Belle would want to help former prostitutes make a new life for themselves, especially ones that she's worked with in the past, and maybe some that she's met out West. So my premise is that she's convinced her son to hire some of them as staff._

_And an addendum: the excellent question has been raised by Karolina: would Scarlett allow her son to be familiar with/stay under the same roof as a former brothel madam/ex-lover of Rhett? Here is why I think so: Part of the problem with writing a story over such an extended time period is the things that get left out out of necessity. In my mind, Belle and Scarlett have become ... friends after that chapter in MoMS where Belle asks her forgiveness. Scarlett and the kids would have spent time together at the Ranch with Belle and Thad, and no one would ever have told the boys about Belle's former occupation of course, so calling her "Auntie" would make sense to them. And Belle and Scarlett have continued to correspond even after her moving to Charleston. I think Scarlett trusts Thad, and even Belle, to take care of Perry - the kids have probably been there by themselves before for shorter periods. I think Scarlett is unconventional enough to judge people by their merit (case in point: Will) as long as she doesn't feel threatened. And in this particular story, Scarlett has undergone a lot of growth. It was Rhett that needed catching up! Anyways - long answer to a good question. Thanks!_

_M rating for adult themes (not the fun kind, unfortunately). A pregnancy loss is described, so if that's something you or a loved one has struggled with, you may want to skip it. It won't effect the story line if you miss this one._

* * *

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe_

His footsteps fell as noiselessly as those of an Indian as he stepped into the kitchen. Mary, Belle's maid, did not become aware of his presence in time to hide the slender, opaque bottle in her hand.

Before she even had time to think, he had pried the bottle from her nerveless fingers, opened it, and smelled the content. With a look of disgust, he threw the bottle on the ground, watching it break into pieces at impact.

The black liquid oozed out and snaked in rivulets about the floor.

"I believe I have made myself clear. I do not want this stuff in my house."

She watched him, warily, like a small cornered animal. He was, they knew from long experience, immune to their wiles of seduction or persuasion.

"Please, Sir. Ah promise I'll never …"

"You may come back in one week. For now, I expect you to be gone in one hour. After you clean up the glass."

The punishment for a first infraction was to leave the Ranch for a week without pay. The second infraction, would result in a banishment of one month. The third, and one would not be allowed to return at all.

It had happened to a number of girls in the past, who had faded into some sad oblivion, perhaps, if they were fortunate, re-absorbed by the brothels of the West.

"Please…"

The black eyes were hard and without pity.

"Yessir." She dropped her head, and moved quickly to sweep up the remains of the bottle under his disconcerting gaze, carrying it into the garbage. Then she scuffled to her room, to pack.

An hour later, when his mother came into the kitchen for breakfast, he told her she would have to do without her maid for a week.

His mother shook her head. "You's so hard on 'em, my boy. She done made one mistake, an' now she don't know where to go."

He turned to look at her. "We all have our crosses to bear, Mother. Theirs is to obey me._" _He poured himself a glass of milk and added, as an afterthought, "At least if they intend to stay."

"Back in Atlanta I never bothered my girls about what they was usin', unless it interfered with their work."

"This is a working Ranch, not a bawdy house. " There was a suave coldness to his tone that chilled her. "While I don't care if they sleep with a different Ranch hand every night, I do care whether they _breach my discipline. _I've seen enough of the effects of opiates, and of that new white powder – cocaine – to last me a lifetime. I won't have it here, around my family. Around children. Imagine if Perry got a hold of one of those bottles. Throwing Mary out is the least of what I would have done to her, had he come to any harm."

Belle sighed. "You should try drinkin'," she suggested. "Might make you less uptight." When she received no reply, she added, "Both your uncle and your real dad really liked their likker in their day. Pleasanter company 'n you, they were. For the most part, that is."

He smiled. "Perhaps, as my mother, you're simply not privy to my …more charming aspects. The ladies I've cared to show them to have not complained of boredom. For the most part."

"Oh, I'm sure that pretty widow'd snap you up quicker'n a duck a blackberry if you let her. But you's still hung up on that curly-haired little princess, ain't you. Though heavens knows what you see'n her. Haughty as they come, that little missy is. Pretty as a picture, I admit, but I never seen your head turned by girls that was almost as pretty, and a lot more easygoin'."

"That is rather thin ice you're currently on, mother."

"You see what I mean?" Belle asked, of no one in particular. She rarely saw this side of him. But she was wise enough to change direction quickly, and unwise enough to remain in the offensive. "Now I gotta find myself a new maid, just because you got …..principles. Don't know what good a principle ever done to anyone, neither."

He cocked his head at a slight angle and gazed at her for a disconcerting moment. "You don't understand men very well after all, mother. Or perhaps you _do_ understand one aspect of them ….that aspect that they took to your brothel. But otherwise, you've lived and worked in a world of women. This Ranch – my business- Uncle Rhett's blockade ships – rely and relied on _principles,_ and our strength in enforcing them. If we don't, we lose respect first for ourselves, and then in very quick succession the respect of others. Which is why it is important to chose one's principles wisely. Choose only the ones you are willing to stand by, and die by, if you must. _And enforce them at all costs_."

He could see that his speech had sailed over her head.

"I told Mrs. Butler once that you men like to make lotsa meaningless words. S'still true, apparently."

"Oh no," he said. "_Words _have driven men across continents, and raised civilizations out of the wilderness. You're right that like most things, principles can be taken too far, and that is were the likes of you come in. To plead for pity and mercy. But just like principles, pleas for mercy must also be …. chosen wisely. You have not chosen wisely here."

"Why don' Mary deserve mercy same as everyone else?"

"If you can't see that for yourself, mother, I will tell you the same thing I tell every one of the girls that you've saddled me with. You need not understand, but you _do need to obey._"

"I never gone in for none o'that opium nonsense," she protested, as if he had asked her an entirely different sort of question. "Nor cocaine, neither. Likker was always good'nuff for me. And I done little of even _that_ since I came here. Livin' with you's enough to drive a saint to sobriety."

He smiled, and to her surprise, hugged her briefly. "I'm sorry I'm such poor company, mother. I wish I had more to offer you in terms of entertainment. I'll be going down to Houston on Tuesday for business, and intend to stay for at least two weeks. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me. Catch some shows. Enjoy city life for a change."

"Oh no," she replied, swiftly. "I ain't sayin' I's cravin' excitement. I done had enough of that to last me for life. And I like livin' here. I'm glad I can help them girls, even if they do mess up every once in a while. I'm glad ter spend some time with you, even if you is all grown now, and don't need no mother no more. I just wish you got yourself a wife, and I'd have some grandkids to look after. " She paused, as if debating whether to continue. "Don't go wastin' your life over that girl, Thad. She ain't worth it."

"I don't intend to," he said, evenly.

"I know all about pinin'," she offered. "I pined first for your father, then for your uncle. Lotta good it did me, too. They never forgot what I was for a minute, though they was quite happy to take what I offered 'em. _She'll _never accept you, and what's worse, they won't neither."

"The world has changed."

"Not that much." She smoothed down her hair, which was mainly white now, with a few remaining reddish streaks. "That widow ain't so bad. Fake as a three dollar bill, of course, but ain't most wimmin? She's sturdy enough for hard work, and still young enough ta give you children. Nice to look at, which matters to you fellas. And raised here, so she won't mind where you come from, as long as you pay her bills, and buy her lotsa pretty dresses an' take her to Houston four times a year."

The smile had disappeared from his face. "I want more than that in a wife, mother. I always have."

Decades in the brothel business made her grin at him. "Yes, you's one of those that likes _talkin'_ to wimmin. But those that can talk the talk ain't always those that work out between the sheets. That little missy of yours ain't got what it takes to keep a man happy, if you ask me, and I seen a lot of girls come and go. You may be in for a big disappointment."

To her surprise, he laughed. "You'd best stop now, mother, or I'm going to start thinking you know as little about women as you do about men."

"I'm right," she insisted. "You'll see. And then it may be too late."

"Cousin Thad. Auntie Belle." A sleepy Perry had wandered into the kitchen. He was rubbing his eyes. "What's for breakfast?"

~~oo~~

They had stood in the haberdasher's store, looking at a selection of new bonnets, when Ella had suddenly paled. "Owwww!"

"Ella," Phoebe asked, with concern, dropping the hat she'd been holding back on the counter. "What's wrong, dear?"

"I'm not sure," Ella whispered, her face contorted with pain. "My back hurts. And ….."

The concern on Phoebe's face grew. "And what, sweetie?"

"There's something wet on my legs," Ella whispered, too miserable to care about her shame.

"Oh dear." Phoebe squeezed her hand, and then knelt down in front of her sister-in-law. "I'm going to lift your skirts to take a look, love." She smiled up at Ella's mortified expression. "Don't be embarrassed, sweetie. We need to know what's going on."

Ella's cheeks were stained red despite the deathly pallor of her face. Phoebe let the skirts drop again, doing her best to arrange her face into a semblance of confidence as she rose. She tried to smile reassuringly while she looked around.

"You," she called to the shopkeeper, who had returned from the back to retrieve more inventory in the form of oval boxes. "Mrs. Thornton needs to lie down. _Now_. You will have a sofa somewhere in the back we can use. And bring me a piece of paper and a pen."

The shopkeeper, who didn't love customers who imposed upon him in such a manner, was propelled forward only by the cold sense of urgency in her voice, and the determination in her face. When he had shuffled up to look at Ella, he sat down his boxes, and frowned.

"There's blood on the floor. It'll stain the upholstery if I….."

"We will replace any damage to your furniture," Phoebe said icily. "Now please lead the way, unless you want Mrs. Thornton to faint right here in the middle of the store."

He threw her another look, and decided she was the sort to cause a major uproar if he disobeyed her. The thought outweighed his concern for his sofa. "This way," he muttered, reluctantly.

They installed Ella on the worn-down sofa in the back of his office, and after further prompting, the shopkeeper produced first a blanket, then a paper and a pen. Phoebe took both, and scribbled a name and an address on the paper. "Here. This is the name and address of Mrs. Thornton's personal doctor. Have one of your lads run down immediately and fetch him. Tell him," she said, in a low voice, "it looks like she may be suffering a miscarriage."

"In _my_ store?" he grumbled, but sighed when he met her eyes. "All right then. But I'll be needing funds to cover my ….."

With a look of disgust, she opened her purse, and pressed several bills into his hands. "Take this for now. If you help us, I may give you a bonus at the end. Now go."

After he had left, she returned to Ella's side.

"What's wrong with me," Ella mumbled. "He said there was blood ….."

"Yes, there was," Phoebe answered, gently. "Listen to me, Ella. Was there any chance that you might be …pregnant?"

Another faint flush appeared on Ella's cheeks, reabsorbed almost immediately by the pallor. Finally, she nodded. "We weren't telling anyone because of what happened the last time. I wanted to wait until I was safe. But now…" She let out a sob. "Will I lose this baby too, Phoebe? I don't think I can bear it, again. Please help me keep it! Please!"

A look of deep sadness briefly crossed Phoebe's features. "I don't know, sweetie. Right now, I need to make sure that _you're_ all right." She bowed her head as she sat next to her, holding her hand. As the mother of an infant, she felt Ella's agony even deeper.

The doctor, a friend of Dr. Harrison's with a soothing manner and an air of competence, arrived within fifteen minutes, carrying a large black bag. He asked for hot water, clean sheets, and privacy to examine his patient. The shopkeeper's wife, who lived above the store and had been summoned by her husband's report, provided the former in ample quantities. She was a pleasant, round-faced woman who, unlike her spouse, seemed to feel for the elegant girl that had broken down on their premises.

Phoebe, who stood outside the office, finally let the depth of her concern and worry suffuse her features. "Thank you for your kindness," she told the shopkeeper's wife.

"Think nothin' of it." The other woman said, kindly. "We's all women, and we know how these things are." She paused for a moment. "Even if we don't really want 'em these things hurt like hell. And from the looks of her she wanted it badly."

"Yes," Phoebe nodded, with excruciating sadness at the unfairness of life.

"You may want to sit down, Mrs…."

"Hamilton. And no, but thank you for your thoughtfulness. I want to be right next to the door, even if I can't ….._do _anything." She smiled with an effort. "And how remiss of me not to ask _your_ name."

"I'm Mrs. Carlson," the other woman said. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton." She threw her a look. "And I know you'll pardon my husband's ways. Business has not been brisk these past few years, and he's always worried about money. It made him harder than he used to be, but he's a good man, and a good provider."

"I'm sure," Phoebe said, hiding admirably whatever her thoughts might have been about a man in _any_ kind of circumstances who considered his upholstery first, when faced with a young girl with blood streaming down her legs. This woman had to live with him, after all.

Dr. Blaire came out ten minutes later. He turned to Phoebe, who had also been his patient during her two pregnancies and deliveries, and of whose good sense he had a high opinion.

"I don't have good news, unfortunately. The cervix is fully dilated, and she is in active labor. She's barely five months along, and the child will not be viable yet. I'm sorry."

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"Unfortunatly, no."

Phoebe closed her eyes. "There's something else, isn't there."

He hesitated. "Please, tell me."

"Second trimester losses are rarely a good sign, Mrs. Phoebe. It's unclear why, but we believe it may have something to do with a weakness of the womb itself, which ….opens up under the pressure of the baby. She may never be able to carry a child to term."

She felt her eyes swim with sudden tears. "Thank you for letting me know."

"You won't be telling any of this to Mrs. Ella, will you?"

"Of course not."

He nodded. "We will have to stay here until she delivers. She's too far along to move her, and to weak to even attempt it. If you can bear it, you may want to come in, and stay at her side until it's over. It is difficult enough without having a mother, or a loved one, at one's side."

"Of course I can bear it," Phoebe said, pushing aside both her sadness and her fatigue. And the growing ache in her breasts, as her baby's feeding time approached.

~~oo~~

Some hours later, a very wan and pale Ella was laying in her bed in her in-law's house. Chase, who, as Phoebe suspected, was entirely useless in a crisis, was nonetheless as sweet and loving as ever, and concerned only with his wife's welfare. Even frivolous Charlotte seemed caught up in the sobriety of the occasion, and looked for ways to make herself quietly useful.

"It's the second time," Rosemary told Phoebe thoughtfully, when they crossed paths in the kitchen to order broth and wine for the invalid.

"I had no idea she was pregnant before, let alone that she was expecting again."

"It was an earlier loss last time, and thus much easier on her. We didn't think much of it, then. But now …..who knows is she'll ever have a successful pregnancy." Rosemary's eyes roved over Phoebe's figure, and Phoebe briefly wondered if Chase's formidable mother had badgered the same information out of Dr. Blaire that he had shared with her. "Not robust like you, that one, and more's the pity."

Phoebe could see the calculation in her eyes …._.one daughter who might never marry, a daughter-in-law who was failing spectacularly in her duties as a brood-mare _– and suddenly, her father's formidable spirit rose within her once more. She determined to do whatever it took to make this as easy on Ella as possible. _No matter who disapproved._

There was a commotion in the hallway, and with considerable relief, Phoebe walked forward to greet her husband and children. Their maid had come along, holding the baby. She hugged Wade fiercely, heedless of who might see her. He pressed her briefly to his chest. "I'm so sorry."

She smiled up at him. "It's not _me_ that we need to worry about."

He nodded. "I know. I wish that mother was here, or Rose…I hate to leave Ella to the tender mercies of Aunt Rosemary when we go home. I just know she'll make her feel awful about it." He looked down at his wife. "Should we offer to take her home with us until she recovers? Chase, too?"

"I've thought about it," Phoebe admitted. "But I don't know if being around a baby might not be worse for her! But I intend to ask, when she feels better. In these kinds of things one must assume nothing, and not beat around the bush."

"How did you get to be so wise?" he asked, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"My grandmother," she answered, candidly. "She lost several children before finally carrying my father to term. She always said that the people who acknowledged her loss, and weren't afraid to ask direct questions about what she needed, were the ones that helped her most. And I can totally _see _why - for isn't that the best way to deal with almost _any_ tragedy in life? I don't know why something like this should be different, merely because we like to pretend such things don't exist!"

She took the baby out of the maid's arms. The ache in her breasts had accelerated to a sharp pain. "I'll disappear upstairs for a bit. I don't know if you can see Ella yet, but you may want to keep Chase company. He's being awfully sweet, but I can see he's just as shook up as she is."

He watched her go, the ghost of a smile on his lips. _I am a lucky fellow_, he thought, handing his son over to Charlotte before going in search of Chase. When he caught sight of his brother-in-law's face, he sighed. _Why can't everyone be?_


	15. Isha

Thank you again for all your wonderful thoughts and reviews. Thanks particularly to AnnaPanag from Greece who suggested Smyrna as a destination for the Butlers, and graciously supplied me with information (all errors are totally mine). I hope you enjoy.

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After only a few weeks in her new domicile, Rose would have been challenged to recall more than the most superficial details of her life in Charleston. The gloomy Scottish weather may have contributed to the impression of having stepped off the ship into another world. Everything was foreign at first – the stone houses, the narrow streets, even the clothes and the broad, rolling accents.

Her host, a gallant Scot who had made his fortune during the war, perfectly embodied the famed Scottish hospitality by making sure nothing was lacking for her comfort. His wife, a warm, angular woman, had allocated large rooms for both Rose and Cherry on the East wing of the house, as well as a small dressing chamber for Rose's personal use, filled with all the vanity items a young girl could desire. In addition, there was a trio of cheerful youngsters between the ages of five and eight, the offspring of her host's younger daughter, who visited frequently, and helped contain the hole in her chest left behind by the absence of her oft-maligned brothers.

And she was busy. Busier than she had ever been even at the height of the Charleston Season.

In the morning, there were lectures, often starting at seven in the morning. Anatomy, physiology, and the new, emerging field of microbiology. In the afternoons, she and the other students helped out at the city hospital, treating charity patients from the lowest rung of society. Had anyone told her two years ago that she'd spend several hours treating the inmates of a local bawdy house for venereal diseases she would have laughed, and advised them to put more water into their wine.

"I had no idea," Rose told Cherry one evening, dropping down into a chair next to the dresser. She'd washed up thoroughly, but on some nights no amount of washing seemed to get rid of the stench, or the grime.

"No. Ah expects ya wouldn't 'ave," Cherry agreed, with just that hint of coolness in her voice that had become commonplace between them. "Ah'd no idea either. No idea this place'd be so …..chilly."

Rose regarded her thoughtfully, a hint of her former warmth peaking through her resentful facade. "I know. I presume this ….isn't quite what you expected. And I know you're dreadfully conspicuous here, what with there not being any other colored people. Perhaps you should have stayed in Charleston, or gone with the others on the trip around Europe instead."

"Ah's asked by Mister Rhett, and ah elected to come along," Cherry said, doggedly. "Ah's been with you since we both were in swaddlin' clothes, Miss Rose, and Ah ain't gonna run out on 'u now. Even if Ah's been treated unfairly."

The warmth dissipated, and a touch of the hauteur that had so aggravated Belle Watling crept into Rose's voice. "_That _is a matter of debate."

"No, it ain't, neither," Cherry said, rearranging the brushes on the dresser with a smack. "You's never tole me nothing about bein' sweet on Mister Thad. So it ain't right to judge me fer somethin' Ah'd no idea 'bout. If a gal wants ter put 'er claim on a man, she's gotta tell folks. That goes fer you fine ladies 'same as fer us. Ah'da gone nowhere near 'im 'ad Ah known."

A flush crept into Rose's pale cheeks. "When you ….what did he say?" she whispered, miserably. The hauteur was gone, as was the stalwart medical student who had washed out boils with peroxide for the better part of the afternoon.

Cherry threw her a look, and then took pity on her. "He says "You's a very nice girl, Cherry, but you's yer father's daughter, and Ah's in love with someone else."

The blue eyes spilled over, and her small chest wrecked with sobs. Cherry went to her, and hugged her tightly. She shook her head while she held her.

"I'm …..sorry," Rose whispered.

"Don' trouble yer lil' head about it, Miss Rose. You's just a young'un, " Cherry said, with all the superiority of not even two year's seniority. "I fergets that sometimes, 'cuz you talk so wise all the time."

Rose untangled herself, and wiped her face with her handkerchief. "Look at me, bawling like a baby."

Cherry shook her head. "You should write to 'im."

The perfect black crescents rose in derision. "Everybody says that."

Cherry rolled her eyes. "That's cuz everybody's right."

"If he loves me, he will come find me." When she saw the look on Cherry's face, she added, "won't he?"

"Man like that won't come chasin' after you twice. Not without some encouragement that he won't be makin' a fool of hisself again." At the expression on Rose's face, she added encouragingly, "Ain't so hard. You says, "Ah's sorry Ah doubts you an' Ah just want yer ta know Ah still care. Don' take more'n a sentence, an' you's done. An' he'll know."

"I can't."

"Then you's gonna lose 'im ter sum girl 'n Texas that's bit more …..accommodatin' '"

She saw the flash in Rose's eyes, but it wasn't enough.

"They don' teach y'all nuthin' 'bout life, do they. Yer knows how ter say "yessir"if a man proposes, but yer don' learn nuthin' beyond that."

~~oo~~

A few hours later, she stood by the curtains of her window, as her father had done so many years ago, looking out over the silent city, searching for an invisible sea.

"_Rose," Thad had said, a smile breaking out over his face. He hadn't seen her for almost six months._

_She had flown towards him, and he had scooped her up, like he always did, and she started laughing, expecting to be swung around. But instead, his body had stiffened slightly, and he had set her down._

"_You've grown," he's said softly, almost as if to himself. Her eyes had searched his face with confusion, but he hadn't elaborated, and instead turned to greet her mother and the boys. She remembered the sharp stab of hurt._

_Later that night, she'd gone in search for him. They had place in the back of the stables where they would often sit for hours, looking at the stars, and talking. _

_He was there. He had apparently been waiting for her. He was sitting, his back against the stable wall, one leg drawn up._

"_I'm glad you came," she said, with forced brightness, as she slid down next to him, wanting to push past that strange barrier between them._

_His eyes had been black in the moonlight. "Rosey. Remember when we said that there'd come a time when you'd be too old to be alone with men who're not your father or brothers?"_

_She'd nodded. That time seemed far away, a time when she'd be almost a woman._

"_You've grown so much in the last few months that I believe ...we may have reached that point."_

"_But why," she had asked, with complete bewilderment, a sob rising in her throat. "Don't you want to talk to me anymore?"_

"_We can still talk, Rosey. There just have to be other people around as well."_

_Her confusion mounted. "But …..we'll never be able to really talk with them around! All I'll be able to do is talk about the weather, and …..and…" A silver tear escaped, and trailed down her cheek. "Don't you like me anymore?"_

_He caught the tear with the knuckle of his index finger. "I do like you, Rosey, very much. But relationships change, as the people in them change. You're not a child anymore, and I can no longer treat you as one. You're also not a woman yet. When you are, we'll have a chance to explore what that may mean for us. For now, I'm afraid it means chaperones, and all the other tedious things we discussed."_

_She had only heard that he no longer wanted to see her. That the world as she'd known it, a world that had depended so much on him as her confidant, her friend ….. was irrevocably gone. Because her body had betrayed her once more. _

_He made a movement, as if to draw her against him for a last time. Instead, he merely rose with his usual fluid grace. "Good night, Rosey. We can't meet here again, but I'll try to catch you when we all go riding - or in the house. And we will ...talk more. But now, I really must go."_

_She had watched him walk away, tearless and in silence. His shadow melted into the night and still she sat unmoving, her body flooding with previously unknown, unnamed emotions. She sat for hours, the stars and all the universe revolving around her as she wept, for the last time in her life, like a child._

~~oo~~

During the second week in Smyrna, Scarlett was able to talk Ella into taking a walk for the first time. Ella had resisted the pleasures of Paris, refusing to be tempted by the dresses and bonnets and elegance of the capital. Rhett had taken Charlotte and Chase and the boys to the _Eiffel tower_ and _Notre Dame_, the _Louvre_ and the _Jardin des Tuileries_, and Chase had attempted to amuse Ella with his descriptions, but to no effect.

When not even Gerry's descriptions of the artwork he'd encountered ("Ella! In the 'seum there's a picture of a _Lady_, that's the most famous picture _ever _Dad says, and she sort of smiles, except she looks like a man!") failed to amuse her - they decided on a change of scenery.

It was Rhett who had suggested Smyrna, the city on the Aegean Cost that was called the _Paris of the South._ The voyage entailed time at sea, with little to do for Ella but bask in the Mediterranean sun, and ended in a world that was just foreign enough, and familiar enough, to tempt even the most downcast of spirits. Scarlett, who regretted the lost Parisian sightseeing less than the lack of sparkle in Ella's eyes, had agreed immediately.

After an uneventful journey he had installed them all in one of the colorful hotels that dotted the city, and ordered large servings of fresh fruit to Ella's room every morning.

Charlotte was still sitting at the breakfast table of the hotel when her brother appeared.

"Where is Ella," he asked, concern immediately suffusing his features.

"Out walking with Aunt Scarlett."

"Oh." He was surprised. "That's good."

Charlotte looked at him, a strange expression flitting over her face. He was four years her senior, but she had always felt as protective of him as an older sister. Her mother, well aware of this fact, had capitalized upon it when she told her she wanted to accompany Chase and Ella to Paris to meet the Butlers as soon as Ella was well enough to travel.

"Playing nursemaid," Charlotte had grumbled.

"Well! You cannot think I would send them alone, scatterbrained as they are. They'd be likely to end up in China!"

Charlotte, who secretly agreed with her mother's assessment, had protested no further. Although she could not admit it openly, she was as relieved as Ella to escape, if only for a brief time, from Rosemary's punitive tongue.

Now they were here, in this gay, colorful city at the end of their world, whose utter unexpectedness gently mocked both their erudition and their understanding. Though nominally under Ottoman Rule, the Greek influence was blatant and palpable. There were cobbled streets and overhanging buildings in an architectural style utterly foreign to them. The women were elegant, and carried themselves so splendidly that they alone would have sufficed to earn their town the title "Paris of the South". There were boutiques and tea-houses and luxury good of very kind overflowing the stores, as a result of the vibrant Mediterranean trade. There were Mosques where the muezzin called to prayer five times a day: at dawn, at the midday, about the middle of the afternoon, just after sunset, and at night fall.

Scarlett had initially complained about the _noise_, but after a few days, its chanting rhythm had submerged into her bloodstream, and she ceased to hear it with her ears. Years later, she would find herself unknowingly pausing at the time of _Maghrib_ or_ Isha, _and feel that incantation rise once more in her body - only to sink back into the protoplasm, where it mingled with an ancient grief.

~~oo~~

They had walked on the beach. And walked. The waves were gently lapping against the shore. The temperature was warm, but not hot. There was no wind. There was an expression of serenity in Ella's features that had been all but absent from her face since the miscarriage. It was as if her whole being suddenly felt weightless, as if she had been returned, for a brief moment, into that floating, bodiless time before birth, before she had been cast out into a bewildering world all too often destined to hurt her.

"Mother," she called. Scarlett stopped.

"When you fell."

Scarlett's heart stopped briefly, then stumbled forward in an irregular rhythm. "Yes."

"You lost a baby. Like me."

Scarlett nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"I remember."

"You were so young….." Scarlett said, feebly.

"I didn't understand. Mother. _I didn't understand_."

And she walked up to her, and suddenly threw her arms around her, her hands clutching at the fabric of her mother's dress. And Scarlett cried as she held her, cried as she had never allowed herself to cry over that lost child. And it was peculiar, she thought, with the remaining part of her brain, that it was _Ella_ who would understand.

~~oo~~

That night, she came into the bedroom with an expression that she'd not worn before. Rhett watched her, but didn't comment. He noticed the hesitation in her kiss, as he had always noticed most things about her.

"How was the walk," he said.

"Fine." She was elsewhere in her mind, but made the effort to rouse herself. "Ella seems a little brighter."

"Good." He pulled her to him, suddenly, and put his chin on her hair in a possessive gesture. "Don't think you can flee now, Scarlett. I couldn't bear it."

"Why would I flee," she asked, with those faraway eyes that turned inwards.

He could only hold her tighter.

He was still awake many hours later. He still held her.

"No", he said once, into the darkness.


	16. The Head Stone of the Corner

Thanks for your thoughts, reviews, pms, alerts for this story. I really appreciate every one. FirthsDarcy and Coco B, y'all need to register so one can send you pms, because you always raise such interesing points. Anna, more about the Butler's travels, soon. But now, since several people have wanted to know more about how Wade and Phoebe met, here's a flashback chapter. Hope you enjoy.

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_"The stone which the builders rejected has become the head stone of the corner." - Psalm 118:22_

Summer, 1883

Twenty-one year old Wade Hamilton was lounging in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the large desk in Thad's Houston office. The desk itself was finely carved cherry-wood; there were barrister bookcases, leather upholstery, and a small bar against one wall. It was, in fact, like most spaces Thad had had occasion to decorate – elegant, comfortable, and somewhat impersonal.

"Have they given you a contract yet?"

"Yes. I …. signed on yesterday morning."

Thad shook his head. "I told you to have one of my lawyers look it over first."

"Dad …..he …"

A pause. "I see," Thad said, evenly. "I'm glad he's taking at least some of his responsibilities seriously."

A brief knock, and a young clerk walked in – a most welcome interruption to Wade. "Mr. Watling, Mr. Walker is here to see you."

Thad stood up, and greeted the stout, dark-haired man in business clothes who entered the room. He was accompanied by a young woman, elegantly attired in a pea-green walking dress and a grey overcoat, richly trimmed with ermine.

"Mr. Walker. So pleased you could make it." Thad shook the other man's hand, and turned to Wade. "My cousin, Wade Hamilton. He's joining a law practice here in Houston as a junior partner. Bennett and Litcomb, Esq. Wade, this is Mr. Hugh Walker, a business associate of mine. And this is…." he turned towards the young woman.

"My niece, Phoebe," the other man said, smiling benevolently, his porcine eyes twinkling. "Staying with me for a bit, for her father believes in travelling about the country, and I dare say he's got the right idea. Virginia couldn't hold _me_, neither, when there's so much to see out West."

Thad, whose gaze had briefly passed over the girl without finding any reason to linger, greeted her cordially nonetheless, before turning back to her uncle. Words like "merger" and "stock recovery" and "cattle boom" passed over Wade's suddenly unheeding ears.

While they spoke, the girl had lifted her eyes to Wade's face and studied him, not at all bashfully as he would have expected, but curiously and with an (he thought) endearing frankness.

"Are you new here, too?"

In addition to her eyes, he was now taken by her voice as well. There was something vaguely soothing and familiar about it.

"Not …. really," he replied. "I've lived in Galveston with my family for many years before I went to Harvard." Feeling the need to distinguish - perhaps advertise - himself, he added swiftly, "I've just signed papers at a law firm in town to become a junior partner." In his eagerness, he forgot that Thad had already supplied this information.

"Well done," she said, her eyes laughing, but not in an unfriendly manner. "Perhaps we shall see ….more of each other, before I go."

Wade nodded enthusiastically, again feeling like a struck school-boy, but supported by the thrilling presumption that she did not take it amiss. "I very much hope so, Miss Walker."

"Phoebe."

The two older men had finished their conversation all too quickly, and uncle and niece took their leave.

"You may close your mouth, now," Thad said, after their footsteps had receded in the hallway.

"Do you mean you didn't see that girl?" Wade replied, in a slightly reproachful tone. "Her eyes are the most extraordinary shade of blue mixed with green I've ever seen. Like …..sea-water."

"She's tolerable," Thad agreed benignly, shuffling some papers on his desk between his large hands. "Nothing you won't find elsewhere."

"_Tolerable_?" Wade said, with growing indignation. "She's far and away the most … beautiful girl I've ever seen _in my entire life."_

"You haven't seen much," Thad shrugged. "I did say she's tolerable, but nothing above the ordinary. Even your little sister will be prettier in a few years."

"Rose? Rose is …. _seven_."

"Seven year olds turn seventeen at some point."

"Good luck waiting," Wade said carelessly. "_This_ divine creature, however ….. I must see her again."

His cousin abandoned his futile attempt to refine Wade's taste in females. "That should be easy. If Hugh Walker is her Uncle …..you see, the Walkers are appallingly social, and open-minded, and I'm frankly run out of excuses to refuse their invitations. In fact, I've got one sitting on the dresser at home right now that'd I'd been planning to discard. For a dinner party on Friday. I'd intended to be back at the Ranch, but for you, dear cuz …no sacrifice is too great. I will remain in town, and we shall go together."

"Thanks a lot," Wade said, without the irony that would normally have accompanied such a statement.

Thad smirked. "Allow me to make some enquires first, before you go off the deep end completely, and I endure another insipid evening in polite company to no purpose. For all you know, the girl is engaged."

"Couldn't be! I mean, I saw no ring." Wade blushed slightly at his cousin's broadening grin. "Easy for you to laugh," he mumbled. "Never seen _you_ hung up on a girl, and I know you don't go in for …." He stopped, again. He wasn't normally this reticent around members of his own sex, but Thad's background remained a potentially sensitive subject.

Thad smiled wryly. "No, I haven't been _hung up on a girl_ for a long time, Wade. Which doesn't mean I've lived like a monk – though perhaps I live my life a little more …...discreetly than some." With those somewhat enigmatic words, he turned back to Wade, and regarded him thoughtfully, as if taking in his youth for the first time. "But it was wrong of me to tease you. Contrary to what you may believe, I do remember what it feels like to be in love."

The sunlight illuminated his form from behind, and Wade took a moment to study him objectively. At twenty-six, Thad had lost most of his boyish lankiness, and acquired the full musculature and heavy-set shoulders of the Butlers. Like Rose, he was more conventionally beautiful than his older counterpart. As nature had smoothed Scarlett's jaw and pointed chin into a perfect oval to form her youngest daughter's face, it had straightened out Rhett's sharp, hooked nose and lightened the swarthy skin by several shades to make Thad, while preserving the full lips, sooty lashes and the wavy, wild curls. Paradoxically, this added symmetry made their faces less arresting in repose, requiring animation, or motion, to be striking.

Had Thad been a girl, such charms might have lessened the stain of illegitimacy and ignominy, and lifted its owner into the lower circles of respectability on its merits alone. As it was, it had merely marked him out that much more obviously as prey.

"You haven't talked about _her_ for a long time, now. When we were in Colorado, you used to tell me about her daily."

Thad stepped back to the window and looked down on the bustle of the street below. He made no reply.

Wade tried again. "Because of Dad? Because you didn't shoot Thomas when you had the chance?" When Thad still said nothing, he added, because he couldn't imagine carrying such a burden, "You may need to forgive yourself. And …..him. And move on with your life."

A twist of the lips that were so much like Rhett's. "Believe me, I've tried."

"What is it like," Wade asked, suddenly, as another thought struck him. "To be with …"

"A black girl?" Suddenly, there was condescension in his tone, and Wade, proud survivor of a war and a murder plot, felt his hackles rise slightly, not recognizing it for the distraction it was. "Girls are girls, Wade. Under our skin we're all ….people. Tasha wasn't even all that black. A quadroon, they called them in New Orleans. I've had Asians – real blacks-whites- and even an Indian Girl or two in my day. They all laugh the same. Cry the same. And sometimes ….they die the same. "

"Well," said Wade, slightly scandalized in spite of himself. "Not everyone feels that way."

"Almost no one feels that way. At least not in the South. Doesn't make it any less true." He whipped his head around with startling alacrity, caught Wade's eye, and held it. "But I'm sure you're not asking me this out of idle curiosity. Who is it?"

Wade blushed.

"Out with it," Thad said. "Since you don't frequent the kind of places where you'd be more likely to find a colored girl, you leave me with the fear it's one of my house-staff." When Wade didn't answer immediately, he shook his head. "I knew those girls mother had brought with her would cause problems."

"Well…"

"Stay away from the house staff, Wade. You know my thoughts – and my rules – regarding them. I'd hate to have to kick _you_ out."

"I" don't have a problem staying away," Wade said, defensively. "It's ….."

"Yes. You do. People – especially people who worked in that profession – are very good at knowing which 'no' is really a 'no', and when 'no' might be turned into a 'yes'.' At Wade's flush, he added somewhat more kindly, ' and it's not to be wondered at, Wade, young as you are. I did offer to …..show you around. There are plenty of girls who would be ….happy to spend time with you, who are not my staff. Nor of that profession."

"I know," Wade said. "And to be honest with you I came to see you today partially with that in mind. But now ….." he saw the sea-green eyes in his mind. "I'm somehow no longer interested." He laughed at himself. "Just her _voice_ made me feel like home."

"Do you miss Atlanta?" Thad asked, thoughtfully.

"No," Wade said, swiftly. "But I miss…"

"I didn't think you would. That house ….."

Wade laughed. "Yes. Mother's taste in architecture wasn't at its height when they had it built."

"Or in décor," Thad said. His tone was not without affection.

"Awful, wasn't it? I remember when we lived there. Dad and Mother were so cold with each other. And Bonnie…." He threw a hesitant look at Thad. "You ….. met Bonnie."

"Briefly." The high, girlish laughter. The flying, black curls. Her father's pride. A brief vision before both of their eyes, distorted by time, and by her sibling's face.

"I wonder sometimes, if she'd look like Rose, had she lived. I suppose she would have. They were mirror images when they were four. And she looks just like that picture Mother has in her dresser." Wade's mind watched the two images struggle, superimposing upon the other, neither emerging the victor.

"She wasn't much like Rose except in looks, I think."

"No," Wade said, thoughtfully. "Although it's hard to say how Bonnie would have turned out, if Dad hadn't spoiled her like he did." He paused. "Ella and I couldn't stand her at times."

By the looks of him, it had been a difficult confession. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum._

"No, I don't suppose you could," Thad replied, without condemnation.

"You were in the ballroom sometimes," Wade said, suddenly. "At the Peachtree house. When Ella and I looked for you we'd find you there. Why did you go there? It was empty." The smells and sounds of the mansion had come back to him. The musty curtains. The loud silences.

"Be alone. Think about Tasha." Thad breathed in, and then out. "We were in the middle of a police investigation. I didn't know where I would go from there. I was entirely dependent on your father's goodwill – or rather your mother's. I was the son of …..someone who had caused her pain. It was hard to ….find a space to grieve." He shook off the unwelcome memory, and like a fish in a stream, moved into another current. "How_ is_ your mother?"

"She's well," Wade replied, as willing as Thad to change the subject. "Busy with the twins. They might come up to the Ranch in a month or two. Between the two of us…." He grinned, suddenly. "I think she's pregnant again."

"Oh no," Thad laughed. "I hope only _one_, this time."

"So does she, I'm sure. Those boys are hellions," Wade said, fondly, the ghosts of Atlanta receding into the corner, where they would stand, until they were called for again.

~~oo~~

Stepping into Hugh Walker's comfortable town house on Friday evening of the same week, Wade felt an immediate sense of homecoming. A cheerful fire crackled in the drawing-room, decorated for comfort and filled with books and interesting artifacts from their travels about the country. Here was the best of the Old South, its graciousness and erudition and love of history, that Melanie Wilkes had poured liberally into his blood-stream. Being here felt like falling back in time into those carefree afternoons in Ivy Street, where he was amongst those who understood him completely, and whom he understood on instinct.

Something inside of him uncoiled, and started breathing again.

Hugh Walker and his wife greeted them warmly. Their easy acceptance of Thad marked them as the denizens of a novel era that they were, preserving the treasures of the past, while still reaching out for something beyond, that belonged not to this century or the next, but to some, as of yet indeterminate future.

The guests were handed drinks and hors d'oeuvres, and asked to make themselves at home. Thad, with his usual genius for attaching himself to the most unlikely person in the room, had bypassed a group of very handsome ladies to introduce himself to a wizened old man with a startling white beard, who sat in an arm-chair by the window. His musician's ear listened to the man's sing-song mountain dialect only for moments before being able to respond to it credibly, and they were soon engaged at what seemed to Wade as a dialogue of incomprehensible mumblings. Wade attempted to join in, but soon gave up, and turned away.

He felt a hand touch his arm, and turning, looked into those same sea-green eyes.

"So you came."

"Yes," he said, feeling himself flush deeply. Years spent amongst strangers in Boston had hammered away at his natural introversion, and it had been long that he'd felt this tongue-tied in the presence of a lady.

"I'm glad." There was no irony, or mockery, or hint of sarcasm in her eyes, and Wade was perhaps more surprised than he should have been. He had no sense that he was as a goldfish raised in a tank of tiger barbs, who were prone to nipping at fins and carrying off a piece of skin through sheer exuberance; at home in the swift rapids of the more narrow and dangerous parts of the river. He had vaguely envied it in Thad, that sinuous fluidity required of creatures always at risk of being swept over the water-falls of life, and would perhaps have pitied him instead, had he known that awareness of, and proximity to, the abyss invariably fits into the structure of an existence as the head stone of the corner.

_He_ belonged here – into this quiet room full of warmth and culture and learning, and into the circle of this girl's eyes.

"I've spent the last three days making all sorts of inquiries about you," she said, laughing. "Luckily, I've learned that you've excellent connections, and are related to some of the best families in Georgia. Which is good, because some of my people in Virginia are rather …. stuffy. Dad is very open-minded, though, as is Uncle Hugh, so I wouldn't have cared much either way."

He laughed, too. "I seem to have made my…..admiration rather obvious. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. After all, I haven't been shy about mine, have I?" At his look of surprise, she added, "Mother says my forthright tongue is beyond the point of being pleasing, but Dad says a man likes to know where he stands just as much as a woman, and it stands to reason he'd know best, doesn't it, since he is a man?" Wade could only smile his agreement.

So they talked, as young people talk who like each other very much, without yet knowing more about each other than just that. About Texas, and Harvard. About Virginia and Atlanta. About Galveston and Houston and books they had read, and things they intended to see, all the while talking much more eloquently with their eyes. They didn't notice the fond glances bestowed upon them by their elders, or what a handsome couple they made - and wouldn't have cared.

To his joy, although not, it must be said at this point, to his surprise, he was seated next to Phoebe at dinner. He glanced briefly at Thad, at the far end of the other side of the table, by their hostess and the man in the white beard. Thad seemed in a mood to be charming, but there was a tenseness in his frame that was slightly unsettling. Wade tried to recall the revelations of a few days ago, and retrieve the compassion it had aroused, but felt nothing but a fierce wish that Thad wouldn't _spoil things_ for him.

"Your cousin," Phoebe said, following his gaze. She was young, and of noble stock, and it is not to be wondered at that there was a faint echo of derision in her voice.

"Step-cousin," Wade said, quickly. "We're not ….really related."

Somewhere, in the unconscious recesses of his mind, a rooster crowed.

The rest of dinner passed very pleasantly, and it was not Phoebe's fault that a shadow had moved over the Meaning of Things.

Thad, who had stuck to the man in the white beard for most of the evening, rejoined him only when it was time to take their leave. Wade became aware of a sudden discomfort at standing next to him, at having all these nice people tie them together in their minds. Never had the gulf between himself and Thad seemed wider – never had he been more aware of his name, his background, and his family, and the other man's lack thereof. He _wanted_ this, to be a part of them. He dared not look at Thad, afraid he would read his defection in his eyes.

"Who was that?" Wade asked, to cover his unease, with what he hoped sounded like idle curiosity.

"Fascinating gentleman," Thad said, thoughtfully. "Owns several silver mines in Nevada. We're to do business." When he did catch Wade's eye, there was no condemnation in his gaze. He looked merely tired. The scales of Wade's heart shifted, tipping from Thad's shame to his own.

They said their good-bys to the Walkers, who were hearty in their urgings that they _must come again soon._

The drumming and the discomfort in Wade's head had become louder. And in a moment that he didn't know would become the place to which, and from which, all of the strands of time would flow, the frame upon which he would build a life - he turned to Phoebe, saying softly, for her ears only: "He_ is_ my cousin. In every way that matters."

And she looked up, catching, not, perhaps, what this said about Thad - but what it said about Wade. And smiled even more fully.


	17. In flagrante delicto

_Thanks for your thoughts. Helen, I know this isn't quite the Rhett-Scarlett interaction you had hoped for. Sorry. Hope you enjoy nonetheless._

_Edit to add: you'all are used to me by now, right? Things are rarely as obvious as they appear at first glance. I will explain in the next chapter. Which will incidentally take place in Saint Gervais les Bains. July 12th of 1892._

_Edit edit: sorry if my obfuscating ways are once more too obscure. Rhett here is supposed to be an idiot, but not a cheating idiot. I've done that storyline, and to do it again would be ...boring. :) Didn't mean to ruin anyone's sleep. I remember how gutted I was when Dixie killed Rhett in "Mistress." __Helen, there's misconstruction and ...misrepresentation._

_No one wants to take me up on my bait? Saint Gervais in 1892? Mont Blanc? Lots of water? No one?_

* * *

Athens, June 23rd, 1892

Charlotte was slowly making her way down a small side street towards the town center of Athens. Her blonde hair, lightened by the warm Mediterranean sun, curled about her angular face. She ambled slowly, having no particular destination in mind, stopping at times to take in a particularly colorful shop-window, or one of the many delightful stone carvings that were scattered about the city. There were flowers everywhere: in pots, and spilling out of converted amphorae, and pushing through patches of earth. She wondered who tended them, and thought idly that she would like to set up such a garden.

She felt contented, and unhurried – Scarlett, Ella and Chase had gone on a trip to Delphi, and wouldn't be back for a few days. She had elected to stay behind with Rhett, the boys, and Miss Addy. During their travels, she had discovered an adventuresome spirit within herself, and delighted at the prospect of exploring the city on her own, and hiking the surrounding hills, dotted with olive grooves.

She felt the glances of the passers-bys: women much more vibrantly dressed than she, with dark lashes, sculptured noses, and that enviable, wavy black hair that seemed almost blue in the sunlight. And the men – men who were very different from either the leisured or the harried class back in Charleston. These were men with dark, lined faces, and bright, vigorous eyes; who seemed to have little to do except drink sweet tea, and play board-games on small, precariously perched tables in the streets. Yet they seemed content, and unafraid of the winter.

Rose might have imagined Socrates standing amongst the idling young men by the city wall, instructing them that _wisdom is to know you know nothing._ Charlotte's mind did not bother with such things, or at least not yet. She did not fill the broken streets with hoplites, or imagine the a particularly dark cloak hid the noble, but devious features of Alcibiades - or that Themistocles would step in front of a crowd at any moment, and warn them to fortify the city against the Persians.

She accepted a cup of tea in a small, porcelain bowl from one of the dark boys that swarmed about her, slowly sipping its rich sweetness. She knew the boy. She let him drag her into his father's pottery store, where she would receive more tea, and be shown his entire inventory, and quoted vastly inflated prices for the next few hours, if she so desired.

This particular owner knew her as well, and smiled when she appeared, even though she had never bought anything from him. She was a diversion, and an opportunity to brush up his few broken chips of English. They were an endlessly curious sort, and money wasn't what motivated them. They were here for a gab, for a laugh, for a beautiful poem, or to watch the sunlight curve over the city. But men just like they had built the Acropolis, and marched victoriously against Xerxes, the most powerful man in the Known World.

The noon heat had become stifling, and Charlotte was glad of the darkness and the shade of the shop. She gladly accepted another cup of the sweet tea. She heard trilling laughter, and turned her head towards the doorway.

A tall dark-haired man was walking slowly by, and with a start, she recognized him. What startled her more was the strange woman on his arm – obviously foreign, and quite beautiful. They seemed to be on intimate terms.

The woman pulled him towards the shop, and he complied, his full, sensual lips curved into a smile. There was a rattle of tiny bells as they stepped through the door, into the half-shade of the interior.

He bent his head, as the woman's hand slid up his bare arm in blatant invitation. His hand slid behind her back, pulling her closer against him. They were merely feet away from her, but Charlotte felt sure their eyes couldn't yet have adjusted from the glare outside to see her. Besides, they were not paying attention to anyone except each other. She saw his head dip lower, in the direction of the woman's lips.

The cup rattled loudly on its saucer as she said it down. "Oh dear," said Charlotte, to no one in particular. She had neither the address, nor the experience to melt obligingly into the shadows.

Her uncle turned his head, and as his eyes met hers, she caught a flicker of something – revulsion? shame? that she didn't have time to analyse.

"Excuse me," Charlotte mumbled, and pushed past them, blindly making her way up the street. Perhaps he called after her, but she didn't stop to listen.

She felt her heart beating in her throat as she pushed forward. She wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the turmoil of the heart: She _had_ read books - she had seen Rose in love, and Ella – and had felt brief, fleeting fancies herself for this boy, or that. But she had met Rhett and Scarlett at a time when everything seemed settled between them; one of those few relationships filled with both fondness and passion, that one can dream about, and aspire to, when surrounded by the depressing dullness of everyone else's marital misfortunes_._

She was not of an analytical bent, but her sadness went beyond even compassion for her Aunt. It was the fall of an ideal, pulverized like marble in the red Athenian dust. It was time – she was old enough, and in most other circumstances would have been married, and, dare we say, disillusioned already. But she was a child of the West. We view children as dew, or dawn – luminous, pure, and innocent - raising them, as much as we are able, away from the morass and the stench of reality. The illusion is hardy, and the downfall is steep.

She wanted Rose, Charlotte thought, glumly – someone with impartial objectivity to talk this through. Except she could not have talked _this_ through with Rose. Ella and Chase wouldn't understand, and had their own troubles to worry about. If she were still in Charleston, she might have gone to Phoebe for advice, but she was not in Charleston. And Aunt Scarlett – Charlotte sighed. Poor, unknowing Aunt Scarlett.

The hill became steeper, and she stopped, slightly out of breath. She tried to gather her thoughts. She had noted Scarlett spending most of her time with Ella over the last few weeks, but had felt it only natural, considering the circumstances. Thinking back, she thought there might have been more, that she missed – the absence of the usual, comfortable banter between the older couple. A strange, faraway expression in Scarlett's eyes, and how she sometimes didn't seem to hear him when he talked to her. That was unusual, at least in retrospect. They were normally so ….in tune.

At the time she'd had attributed it all to Scarlett's preoccupation with her daughter's grief. Had it been more? Or was her uncle simply one of those men, men who strayed as soon as they were not the center of his wife's attention, even if only for a moment? Had she ...really seen what she thought she'd seen? She saw the woman, again, in her mind, the intimacy of the scene, how he had moved ...how he had moved in to kiss her. She closed her eyes as if in pain.

~~oo~~

Rhett found her, some hours later, sitting on a small wall by the hotel, watching the salamanders dart after insects in the sun.

"Charlotte."

She did not look up, but acknowledged his presence with a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

"I would appreciate if you didn't mention any of what you saw to Scarlett."

"You're asking me not to tell," said Charlotte. She had half expected to have to defend herself against a complete denial, and this frank admission startled her.

"I'm asking you not to tell."

"I can't," she said, candidly. "I mean, _I_ could. I'd rather forget it. But eventually, I'll see Rose again, and _she'll _know something's wrong_,_ and I don't want _her_ in the position to have to hide anything from Aunt Scarlett. It wouldn't be fair, you see?" It had come out all in a rush, and probably made no sense to him, but she looked up at him with some defiance. She meant it, and she would not let him cower her.

"You're a good friend," he said, gently, and there was regret in his eyes. She tried to stop herself from feeling sorry for him. He sat down beside her, his large hands clenched at his side. "I didn't mean Scarlett should not find out. I only want …the chance to tell her myself."

"How do I know you'll do it?"

Again, that flicker of emotion. "My word may not mean as much to you now as it once did, Charlotte, but you may ask her yourself. After I've ….told her everything."

"All right," she said, wishing nothing more than that the ground would open and swallow her whole. She didn't like to be in this position. Didn't want to think what it meant for her life, for her almost abandoned hope of a future marriage – that elusive dream of happiness she'd still clung to, despite so much evidence to the contrary.

"I'm sorry," he said, gently, at the stricken expression on her face.

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"That I … disappointed you."

"Oh." She shook her head. "But that wasn't really your job. Not to disappoint me. I mean. You are what you are." She came from pragmatic stock – her mother's mind had never been diluted by even a drop of romance, and it is perhaps telling that of the three Butler children Rosemary had lead the most exemplary life.

He gave a short laugh, almost like a bark. "That's what I was afraid of, as well."

She turned her head in disgust. Even pragmatism only went so far.

He got up, seeming to walk away.

"Uncle Rhett," she called out – but the familiar title tasted foul in her mouth. They were not just uncle and niece anymore. They were co-conspirators in something sordid. She did not want to see him anymore, but she had to know just how far she would have to dial down her expectations of life.

"Is this …."

"The first time?" he supplied, gently.

She flushed.

He hesitated. "I won't bore you with our entire marital history. You know we ….were separated for a while." She nodded. "It was the first time since we reconciled. Yes."

"What else can you say, now?" At his look, she added, with some bitterness, "It's none of my business." Her face was suddenly cold, and vulnerable. "But I …..don't understand. You have ….. everything."

"Do I."

"Yes," said Charlotte, with all the ruthlessness of youth. "A wife. A home. Beautiful children." Again, that glance, and she scoffed, "you think, perhaps, that _you_ are entitled to _more_."

"Charlotte ….I didn't mean ….." he broke off, as if realizing the futility of explaining himself, or the intricacies of his relationship, to a twenty-one year old virgin.

"It's all right," she said, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation. "I was probably being silly, and naïve. Things happen. Uncle Charles had Cousin Thad while he was married. One hears about others. One almost _expects_ it. But _you_ …..now I _know."_

She looked at him with shuttered eyes, and he knew that it was that sunny afternoon that her childhood had been broken. Yes, it would have been broken anyhow, at sometime. By someone. But it had been he.

"You may want to ….start thinking about how you'll tell Rose," she said, almost conversationally, as one stranger speaking to another. "She will find out, you know." She had not meant to twist in the knife, for she could not know that any man finds his moral failings even more difficult to acknowledge to a daughter.

He merely nodded, and walked wordlessly away.

Charlotte sat on the wall for a while, and cried.

~~oo~~

_Houston, June 23rd, 1892_

Dear Uncle Rhett,

The box of ouzo arrived safely. Mother especially has been enjoying the change from her usual parsnip wine, and I suspect Trish, the parlor maid, of harboring a secret affection for it as well. We have never caught her in flagrante delicto, but she totters about more than usual, and smells strongly of anise. I leave the final verdict to your judgment. Mother says not to thank you for sending along the _Parsifal _sheets. I've taken to playing them after dinner, and the three hounds usually join in.

Perry is well, he came to Houston with me last week, and entertained at least three prospective clients by earnestly demonstrating his periscope. The clerks' candy bowl has mysteriously emptied around that same time-frame, but of course there is no causal relation. Back at the ranch, Perry not only opened all of the pig-pens, but to this day refuses to divulge the whereabouts of his favorite piglet, which he has dibbed "Stripes." I fear Jim may be in on this particular conspiracy. I see them whispering together, and take kitchen scraps into a rarely-used part of the carriage house. One of these days, I intend to go see just what it is that they keep there.

The presidential election is in full swing, and you haven't missed out on much. Harrison was nominated as expected, but Cleveland may yet prove to be the stronger candidate, despite barely squeaking through the Convention. No one will be happier than I when it is over on November 9th. Wade, like you, feels the need to update me on Rose and her studies. From the disparity of your accounts, I surmise she writes much more frankly to him about just how difficult the training is. You may want to check in on her, and make sure she doesn't over-exert herself.

I'm sorry to hear about the difficulties between you and Aunt Scarlett. I am, as you know, as the blind leading the blind when it comes to happy, long-term relationships. The current chief of the Alabama-Coushatta tells me the secret to pleasing women is "abject groveling, and expensive gifts", which I pass on to you without further comment.

Having spent quite a few months in Scarlett's company, I well remember her ability to shut out painful subject matters. Whatever is troubling her, pressing her to talk seems imperative, if somewhat counter-intuitive. With that in mind, I've just recently re-read your account of your time in Atlanta. It makes for difficult reading even upon the second perusal, but it also illustrates a larger point: you've overcome much together, and what you do have is worth fighting for.

I enclose a letter to Scarlett from Mother, which she dictated to me this morning. It includes a reference to pickled onions which eludes me, but is apparently meant to cheer her up.

Please give my best regards to Scarlett, Ella, Charlotte, Chase & the boys. I remain, etc etc

Your affectionate nephew,

Thad


	18. Sintflut

The Alps in the summer were a glorious splash of colors. Alpine roses and yellow globe flowers and blue-tipped Gentian scattered the hillsides. The grey-and-white mass of the Mont Blanc loomed precariously over them, beckoning as all mountain-tops have beckoned through the ages, whispering tales of lofty peaks and unseen valleys far and above the travails of mankind.

They had picked Saint Gervais because of the thermal baths, and because it seemed as good a stop as any between Athens and Paris. After months in the Mediterranean, they enjoyed the change of scenery, and the languid pace of a watering-place. The grown-ups luxuriated in the warm springs. The boys enjoyed the near-by waterfall, splashing in the icy snowmelt that ran in rivers from sweating glaciers above.

They all enjoyed meeting up with Rose, on a brief break between semesters. A slighter, paler Rose, accompanied by a more subdued Cherry.

They all felt the change in the current that came with Rose's arrival. The last six months had affixed a permanent half-smile to her face – no longer the wry smile of irony, but the grimace of perspective. She had seen poverty, hunger, and agony, up close and in person. Putrid breath had been expelled on her face. She had lanced boils, and tended the wounds of those without even a passing acquaintance to water, or washing. She had closed eyes in cold faces, and brought the children of prostitutes into an inhospitable world. Scarlett alone might have recognized the look on her face as something familiar, something that had belonged to another woman who still haunted her dreams at times. Like Ellen, Rose believed her one true love lost to her forever. Like Ellen, her path to dysfunction was not excess, but self-denial. Always ethereal, there was now a real risk she would disappear entirely behind the mask of the priest, or the confessor, or the healer.

They were all too wrapped up in themselves to notice - or regret- the change.

Rhett had taken her on a walk to the mountainside the day after her arrival, displaying an unprecedented determination to confront a painful topic head-on. They chose a narrow path amongst the rocks, which led upwards for fifteen minutes, before it burst into a sun-filled hillside buzzing with insects and bloom. They stopped, as if by mutual consent, next to a group of rocks and flowers, overlooking the valleys below. Rose, who had learned the value of timing, let the silence draw out for several heart-beats.

"So," she said, finally. Had he been looking at her, he would have seen that her posture was watchful, but tranquil. "Do tell me what happened. I couldn't get much out of mother, but Charlotte has been brightening my exile with astonishing tales. Of you, and an Athenian woman."

She looked up at him again, the disconcerting glance of her girlhood sharpened by suffering. Strangely enough, she was smiling. "An Athenian woman, that you apparently …paraded about. Openly. At midday. Where you knew anyone could see you." She stopped, her brows arching delicately over the cornflower-blue eyes. "In a town the size of Athens, where the number of dark, handsome Charlestonians at that time of year is probably around …..one. Even if Charlotte _hadn't _seen you, it would have gotten back to mother, say - roughly five minutes after she crossed the city line. In fact – it probably did." She added, conversationally, "Out of practice for clandestine encounters, Daddy?"

He said nothing.

She picked a blue flower, and twirled it between her fingers like a sun-wheel. She didn't release him from her gaze.

"What do you want me to say," he finally answered, heavily. "That I…wanted to make her suspicious? Hoping to provoke her legendary temper, so she would finally …...communicate with me, instead of making me wait in purgatory while she made her decision?"

"Something like that, yes."

The heavy lidded eyes opened, and fell back down over the black orbs. "Consider it said, then."

"Was it someone you knew?"

"No." At her glance, he added, "Simply someone I paid a few _drachmae _to be effusive in public."

"I see." She shook her head at him. "You didn't sleep with her? Or even kiss her?"

"No." He sighed. "I've kissed only _one_ woman's lips for the past eighteen years. And haven't _cared_ for kissing any other woman's lips for roughly thirty. Which is….. exactly the problem."

"Charlotte claims to have caught you ….._leaning in_."

He smirked. "I was _leaning in_ to tell the woman she didn't have to be _quite_ so effusive. Not while we were in the shop." He caught the slight smirk on her lips, and sighed. "I don't deny that I toyed with the idea of doing more. Not because that lady held any particular charms for me, but because ….." he stopped, breathed, and restarted. "I _resent_ how vulnerable I am. And as you correctly surmise, I could have easily gotten away with _clandestine encounters_, had I wanted to. But give me some credit, Rose. I know the memories of past ….misdoings is part of what haunts us now, no matter how well justified I believed myself to be at the time. While I ….apparently had no compunction about using those memories to attempt to break through our current impasse, I really had no interest in adding to them. Even if only I had ever known about it."

Orange-and-black butterflies tottered about, drunken with summer. "Have you explained it to mother? Using those words?"

He sighed. "I tried. I knew as soon as I saw Charlotte's expression that I had over-played my hand once more, and that I would have to make a clean breast of it. At least – at least to Scarlett."

"What did mother say?"

"She told me to go to fornicate with myself."

Rose grinned, looking like her old self for a moment. "The older I get, the more I appreciate her ...directness."

"Under any other circumstances, I couldn't agree with you more."

She shook her head once more, her eyes resting on bumblebees, climbing on purple clover blossoms. "Can't leave you alone for even six months before you get yourself into a rare mess again, can I, Daddy?" She gave the flower in her hand another twirl, and watched it sail to the grass. "There's no helping it. You _must_ talk to Charlotte. You won't, I'm afraid, be able to rescue her impression of your intelligence, but you may yet salvage her impression of your honor. Yes, you will look plenty foolish, but that is the price you have to pay." She glanced at him, and noted with some satisfaction that he looked, if not thrilled, at least resigned. She added, encouragingly, "And if you can explain the intricacies of the male mind to _her_, you'll have a better chance of succeeding with mother."

He raised his brows. "What particular ….intricacies?"

"The intricacies that make infidelity seem more _manly_ than fear. So you'd rather imply you committed adultery, than to admit to what you _really_ are."

He bent his head to look at the rocks at his feet. "And that is?" She arched her brows. "Somehow, I feel sure you will tell me."

"A foolish, frightened boy in love."

He gave a short, barking laugh. Then he shrugged. "I've never enjoyed looking weak. Or desperate. And I was ...guilty, after all. Even if not quite in the way she thought."

She gave him a quick smile, and a light squeeze on the arm. "Pot, meet the kettle, Daddy. Remember my black jacket? I wore it because I hoped to infuriate Thad. So he'd finally _talk_ to me. And we know how that turned out. But I _do_ understand, you see. I know you held back all those years not because you were unsure of your decision, but because you were …afraid. As long as you were holding a small part of yourself out of reach, mother was always ….. moving towards you. By default. Now, you've reached standstill, and _she_ has to decide which way to go."

"Wade is right when he says that earlier centuries would have burned you on a pyre." He knelt down, amidst the bumblebees and the clover, to retie his shoes. When he rose and spoke again, his voice was husky, and low. "It becomes harder, and not easier, Rose. I thought it would become easier. Which is why I held out for all this time. But in the end, each passing day… just added to the stakes."

She laughed. "Just _stand still _and wait, Daddy. It's not so hard, after a while." When he grimaced slightly, she added, "She's given _you_ plenty of time, after all. And Ella's miscarriage was difficult for her, I think. It stirred up things. Opened wounds, that have never quite healed." When he nodded, she added, "surely you can give her some time to grieve?"

"How _much_ time?" He dragged his large brown hand through his dark hair, the old scourge of mankind, the awareness of his own mortality, plain in his eyes. "And what's worse - how do I know she will still want me, after she's finished processing -all of my past misdeeds?"

"She's loved you steadily for over eighteen years now, Daddy. Probably longer. I'd say your odds are better than even." The gentle breeze was playing with the dark curls, and as he watched her, he forgot for a moment that she looked like Bonnie. "There will a price to pay of course, as for everything that one wants. There's always a price."

"What else is there, that I can give her?"

When she spoke, her voice was like the murmur of a spring in summer. "One more thing..."

He gave her a look. _Yes. I know._

~~oo~~

The disaster struck St. Gervais-les-Bains after nightfall. There was a deafening explosion, and a rumble that shook the mountain, and the village, to its core. For roughly ten minutes, the sleepy villagers would be left to ask themselves what had just happened. An earthquake?

Then the tidal wave struck.

Only days later would the source of the disaster be traced to the eruption of a sub-terranian lake at the foot of the Tete-Rousse glacier, nestled two thirds of the way up the mountain. The water poured down a narrow gourge, trapping debris and boulders to form a crude dam, behind which the water level rose precariously.

When the dam burst, thousands of cubic feet of water emptied almost simultaneously into the valley below.

It flattened trees, flooded buildings, ripping some entirely from their foundation. The final death toll would come in at 175.

~~oo~~

It had been a quiet, almost a pleasant evening. A pianist from Genua had given a concert in the dining hall. Rose, Ella and Rhett had listened, while Chase and Charlotte whispered to each other, clearly not attending to the music. Scarlett drummed the table with her fingers from time to time, as if punctuating something in her mind. They had eaten crayfish, and small, round potatoes boiled in salt water, with herbs and a spicy white sauce.

They had talked after the concert, but with both Rhett and Scarlett unlike themselves, the conversation never quite took off. Rose talked to Ella and Charlotte about Scotland. Chase, who was sleepy, tried not to doze. Eventually, they decided to bring the evening to an end.

After checking on the boys, who slept with Cherry and Miss Addy, Scarlett sat the dressing table of her hotel room. She wore the same absent-minded expression that she'd been wearing for months. Rhett, who had adopted an attitude of suave courtesy in face of her indifference, merely asked her if she had everything she needed.

"I wish you'd talk to me," he said, suddenly. "Perhaps I could ..."

She looked at him, but her eyes were far away. He sighed, and gave up, sliding under the covers. Eventually, they both fell into a restless sleep. Moonlight filtered gently through the curtains, serenely looking down on the calamity about to unfold below.

There was a thundering boom - that shook the sky, and the mountain, and the village. At the deafening noise, Scarlett and Rhett both shot up from their covers.

"What was that," Scarlett asked, her mind still fogged with sleep. Siege cannons echoed in her mind, and even half-asleep, her body was braced for war.

"I'm not sure." He listened intently into the silence. This was not the cordial, slightly uncertain Rhett of the last few weeks. This was a lean, dark, stranger, whose ears seemed to be picking up on sounds beyond the range of human hearing. Even while he listened, his quick, competent hands had lit several candles on the nightstand.

"What…."

"Shhhhh", he said. He was still listening into the night.

Then Scarlett heard it too. A different sound. Like many rivers flowing towards them, increasing in speed, tearing down everything it their path.

"Water," he said. The word fell to the ground like stone.

"What?" she said. And then she blanched, her pallor swallowed by the darkness.

"Water from the glacier. Or something most uncomfortably like it. A lot of water. Coming this way." His hand reached for her shoulder, shaking her out of her trance. "Grab the boys. And Rose and the others. And run up the stairs, as far as you can go."

Only a heartbeat passed before her battle-worn mind comprehended his words.

"Ella!" She screamed, struggling to free herself. Ella and Chase were housed on the floor below.

"Scarlett." He shook her again. "We don't know how far the water levels will rise. Pray that the structure holds. Take the girls and the children, and _go up_, as far as you can. I will look for Ella."

She stared at him with uncomprehending eyes, but finally nodded. "Good girl", he breathed. His large hand lingered on her face for a moment, tracing it, as if to imprint it in his memory. He made a move as if to kiss her - as he had kissed her long ago, before going off to a war. But he did not. Then he straightened, more aware than even she could be of the urgency of the situation. "I….." He swallowed, and grabbed one of the candles. "Now go."

The halo of the candle faded as he disappeared in the direction of the stairs. There was something like a sob caught in her chest, mingled in with the panic and the fear.

She shook Dan and Gerry, who had slept soundly through the disaster. She grabbed blankets, and stepped into the hallway, almost colliding with Rose, Charlotte and Cherry.

"What happened? What is that ...noise?" There was concern in Rose's voice, but no panic. Miss Addy came out of an adjourning room, her grey hair floating about her shoulders like a halo. "Oh dear," she said, to no one in particular.

"Water," Scarlett said, succinctly. "Help me get Dan and Gerry to the top floor. Rhett says wait there."

"How ….."

"We don't know. Rhett said something about glacier water. Coming down the mountain." The roar had increased in ferocity, like many thousand nightmares coming to descend upon them. Increasingly high- pitched wails started to fill the air.

_People drowning,_ said Rose's eyes. Aloud, she said swiftly, "Chase and Ella…."

_I know,_ said Scarlett's. "Rhett's gone to look for them."

The women stared at each other. Then, almost at the same moment, they started moving. There were children to protect, and they would not break down now.

With swift efficacy, they shepherded the sleepy, but unusually docile boys to the fourth floor, the top floor of the hotel. Scarlett brought candles, Rose, Charlotte and Cherry carried blankets. Miss Addy held the boy's hands.

Along with twenty other people, they huddled in one of the top floor rooms that were apparently in a state of renovation, but usable. Scarlett built a nest for the boys out of the blankets and duvet covers. Both Dan and Gerry were silent, the survival instinct of little creatures telling them to lay as quietly as possible, while the world about them raged out of control. Their governess sat beside them, permitting herself to shiver uncontrollably, now that the time for action had passed. "Oh dear," she exclaimed, in random intervals. No one paid her any heed.

There were still screams from below, louder, and more frequent. The roaring sound was upon them, drowning out the entire world.

Several more figures stumbled into the candlelight.

"Mother."

Scarlett felt the blood rush from her head. . "Ella," she said, faintly. She wanted to get up, but her legs felt too weak to stand. She didn't know why she had been so sure she was dead.

"Chase is here, too" How could her silly Ella sound so eerily calm? When the rest of the world was so loud?

"Where's Rhett?" Scarlett asked, in sudden dread.

Ella sat down next to her, sliding her arms around her shoulders. Her wet night-shirt clung to her narrow frame. "The water level is rising, and we don't know when it will crest. People are trapped. He's still downstairs. To …...help."

Scarlett shuddered. "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad, from the looks of it." Ella said, still with that strange, unnatural singsong. "The water was at hip level on our floor when we got out, so I can only imagine what it did to those below us. And it's still dark, so …"

She didn't need to finish her thought. Rescue efforts would be difficult enough in daylight, never mind under those circumstances.

"You're shivering," Scarlett said, her mind latching onto the only practical matter before her that she could do something about.

"It was cold."

"Take those wet clothes off. And wrap yourself in those blankets. Chase, too." At Ella's hesitancy, Scarlett said, briskly, "no one will see you. And if they do, it's the least of our worries, right now…."

But she dimmed the candlelight, and turned away, so they could change with what little privacy the room offered. Ella wrapped herself in a warm blanket, Chase making sure she was comfortable before he changed, as well.

Scarlett looked about, like a general surveying her troops. Her moment of weakness had passed. They were all safe, and dry. For now. She pulled on Gerry's blanket, to tuck it tighter around his neck. She would not allow herself to think about Rhett.

Rose, leaning against a wall, made a strange noise.

Scarlett moved over to her. "Honey."

Rose grabbed her hand. "Mother. If I drown, he'll never..." She was a girl again, briefly, the serene mask washed away by the flood. "If I drown, but you don't, tell him…"

"I _know_," Scarlett said, swiftly. "Don't think about that. We'll all pull through. I've survived much worse! Did I...did I ever tell you about the night Atlanta fell?"

And as the roaring died down, and the screams with it, the entire, silent room listened to her tale of horror, and survival. It seemed to fit seamlessly into this night.

* * *

_Yes, I admit, I was a bit obtuse. The only clues were the time-frame (too soon to be that intimate with someone) and the timing (our suave and experienced Rhett would have done a much better job at hiding, were he really merely testing the waters). But I'm not even all that sorry, for who would have thought Rhett's caddish behaviour would provoked such a spirited discussion, and brought so many thoughtful, articulate lurkers out of lurk-dom? Stop by more often- you have so much to say! I always thought Rhett was so annoyingly open about Belle in part because he wanted to assert his indifference, and in part because he wanted to provoke her jealousy – and perhaps get her to admit she cared. I think in times of stress he might fall back into old, dysfunctional patterns, if not, hopefully, quite as dysfunctional as before._

_Yes, indeed- the mountain/glacier is part metaphor, and part catalyst. A lot of things need to break up._


	19. Ice

_Thanks once more for your thoughts. 'Tis a complex web we weave, but there is method to my madness, I promise. FirthsDarcy, your review made me laugh out loud. You have the most awesome way of anticipating the things I leave out (sometimes to get back to them later, sometimes to just leave them dangling). Anna, Diana ...you're quite right, as usual about Scarlett's lack of (re) action to Rhett's little ploy, and wondered about it. I hope this answers your question. Charlotte, glad you like your namesakes. I like her, too._

_I also got a good giggle about the guest that commented why angular-faced people can't have epic love stories. So true. It's because the *epic* part of epic love is projection ... and we project so much more successfully into handsome/beautiful slates. However, even epic lovers eventually have to deal with reality, and Who They Really Are. Which is often where they fail._

_No, his lie is not what you think. Nor is hers._

* * *

Dawn rose over a moon-like landscape filled with mud, debris, and the remains of buildings that had been entirely swept from their foundations.

At the first ray of light, search-parties arrived from the surrounding villages, armed with dogs, shovels and ropes, and wagons with which to transport the survivors to safety. Flash-floods were not uncommon in the mountains, though rarely this destructive. The villagers had suspected the worst - having heard the pitiful screams of the trapped ring through the night for about half an hour after the floodwater struck- before silence had descended on the night once more. As they approached the village, even the most hardened mountain-dwellers were aghast at the sheer extent of the destruction. Their eyes followed the malevolent track of the flood up the mountainside, and sighed involuntarily.

It felt like a scourge of the Heavens – what had at other times and in other places been called the Wrath of God.

There was no time to lose for potential survivors trapped under debris, or locked in their houses. Quickly, the rescuers swarmed out, releasing sturdy, shorthaired mountain dogs, trained to rescue people trapped under snowdrifts. They did not yet know that out of the three hundred inhabitants, employees and visitors that had gone to sleep on the night of the 12th, not even half would be recovered alive.

Up at the fourth floor of their hotel, Scarlett slowly moved her aching limbs.

Rose stirred beside her. None of the grown-ups had slept at all, each maintaining their silent vigil, perhaps lost in their own thoughts and regrets.

"We should go down, and see whether the water reached our floor level, " Scarlett said, softly. "If it didn't, we'll be able find dry clothing." She tried for a wry laugh, but it came out sounding more like a hiccup. "I…..very much doubt we can stay here."

Rose nodded. She glanced around the room, and then got up, somewhat stiffly. She took them all in with her eyes. Scarlett. Ella, Cherry, Chase, Miss Addy, Charlotte. Dan. Gerry.

Rhett had not reappeared during the night.

"Wait here," Rose told them. Two older men in nightclothes untangled themselves from their covers from the other side of the room to join her. Under normal circumstances, she would have been mortified to let strangers see her in her wrapper. Now, she did not even spare it a thought.

"You may wanna wait until later, lady," one of the men told her, as they left the room together. His accent was American – Midwestern, by the sound of it. Rose felt a sudden, aching homesickness for Texas. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with concern. "We don't know what we'll find down there."

Steady brown eyes stared into blue. "I know. I'm ….a medical student. From Glasgow."

"Are you, now." If he was surprised, he did not show it. But he protested her presence no further.

She returned some twenty minutes later, without the men. She was bearing a suitcase. Scarlett looked up as she entered. Her eyes were glazed with a strange emotion.

"The third floor flooded, but only by a few feet. Our things …..those that were up in the closets - are dry. I've ….brought clothes for everyone."

"We can all just go down, then….." Scarlett's voice trailed off, seeing the expression on Rose's face.

"There are …..bodies in the hallway," Rose said softly, for her ears only. "Probably caught on the staircase, or one of the other floors, when the crest peaked. There are search parties abreast in what's left of the village. The two …gentlemen that were here with us have gone down to let them know where we are."

"Is your father …."

Rose shook her head. "No. I looked. On all floors. There is no sign of him." She didn't describe how difficult it had been to identify the faces of the victims as _not_ her father. Or what water does to a body during drowning. Of course, for all they knew, he could have been trapped, and swept outside.

The faint clamor of voices outside grew louder. Scarlett took a deep breath. "Let's all get dressed. Quickly. We need to do what we can to get out of here." No one who had been through a war, as she had, could be unaware of the dangers of polluted water, and death, and lack of sanitation. As far as she was concerned, they could not leave here quickly enough.

About ten minutes later, just as Scarlett smoothed her dress into place, there were footsteps in the hall. A man in uniform, a local gendarme, clanged into the room, surveyed them, and started chattering at them in quick French. Rose chattered back, as did some of the others.

"What is he saying?" Scarlett asked Charlotte, who was standing next to her.

"He asks if we are ok. He says stay here until they call us. Not to go down yet. He says we are …..safe."

_They want to move- or cover- the bodies first, _Scarlett thought. Her dispassionate gaze fell on the children, who were still unusually silent. On the faces of Chase, and Ella. _Just as well._

~~oo~~

An hour later, they were in a pony-wagon headed for a nearby village, ten miles away, upstream from the glacier-water. Chase and Rose had elected to remain behind, to assist with the rescue efforts, and to look for Rhett. Cherry was also staying, refusing to be separated from her mistress. "If Miss Rose's stayin,' I's staying too," she announced, in a tone that shut down all protests.

"Don't go," Ella had pleaded with her husband. "Come with us. Rose needs to stay, I understand, to help, and look for Daddy. But _you_ have to stay with me."

"I can't." There was none of his habitual shyness in his drawn, worn-out face. "There might be people still trapped, and they will need every able-bodied man. If nothing else, I am that."

"Rose", Scarlett had said, imploringly, adding her voice to Ella's. "You come, then. Please. Chase will find Rhett. One person is enough." _Look at what the war did to me_, she silently added. _Do you want that?_

"I'm only a _student_ of medicine, but I'm probably the best they have, right now." The gendarmes had found no sign of Dr. Bouchard, the village physician. "I _can't_ go, mother. You know that."

Charlotte, who'd already climbed on the carriage, started to climb back down as well. "Charlotte!" Ella said, scandalized. She tried not to think of the bodies being carried through the streets behind them. She only wanted to get away from all the horror.

"Perhaps, they also need another able-bodied _woman_. I can _help_."

"All right," Scarlett sighed, heavily, seeing that further protest was pointless. She herself had been that young, once. "I suppose more wagons will come over the course of the day. If you find your father ….if he is injured …..bring him to the village. And let me know ….."

"I will," said Rose.

They turned, and walked away. Scarlett watched them, helpless in face of their determination. Unlike most of them, she was bitterly familiar with the real price of heroics. And she was not wrong: as the war had altered Scarlett, the four young people plodding through the mud to join the other rescuers would also emerge forever altered from this catastrophe.

~~oo~~

As the wagon left Saint Gervais behind, the sun burst out of its hiding place behind deceptively white clouds, and the familiar, pristine beauty of the Alps was reinstated. Nature opened its blossoms, sent forth its birds into the trees and gallant chamois onto the mountainside, as if last night's catastrophe had never happened.

They installed themselves in a new, much smaller hotel, where a round-faced and very concerned landlady bustled about, doing everything she could for their comfort. Scarlett went through the necessary motions of settling in the children, but with an expression on her face not unlike the frozen water that had burst open so disastrously last night.

Around noon, yet another carriage arrived in front of the hotel. Ella, who had been meeting all new arrivals, and bringing back news from the rescue efforts, had expected to hear more of the staggering, ever-mounting casualty numbers. Instead, she saw her husband descend. And Rhett.

"Daddy!" she called, running to the carriage as quickly as she could. Her heart was bursting with relief, her eyes filling with tears. Seconds later, she was hugging him to her, unmindful of the fact that he was wet, and cold, and that his teeth were chattering.

"Quite the hero," Chase reported, with feigned lightness. "Waited until the water level dropped, then dashed outside as soon as he could see. Saved more than a couple of people from certain death. Joined up with the first rescue parties that arrived. And wouldn't hear of rest, but had to help with the digging, until he collapsed, and they made me take him away."

Scarlett, hearing the voices, ran outside as well. When she saw Rhett, she swallowed her relief into a dark cavern of her chest. "Hello," she said, blankly. He didn't answer her. Perhaps, because he couldn't.

Chase helped him stagger into the bedroom, which was thankfully on the ground floor. He was clearly beyond the limits of his endurance.

Scarlett helped him out of the wet clothes. He was still shivering uncontrollably. His forehead was burning hot.

"Are you sad I didn't drown?" he rasped. She couldn't tell if he was mocking her.

"Don't be silly," she replied, briskly, tucking the blankets around him. "I'm very happy you're safe." And she was.

The others arrived just before nightfall, with grey, silent faces, covered in mud. Eighty-nine bodies had been recovered, including a number of children drowned in their sleep. The numbers were expected to rise.

Rhett had become feverish, and incoherent.

They tended him for three days – Scarlett, Charlotte and Rose took turns with his care.

He was restless, tormented in his false sleep. "Bonnie! Bonnie!" he called out, in feverish dreams. It was the only name he called for. When it happened, Charlotte shriveled up with compassion. Unbeknownst to either Rose or Scarlett, the confession of his ploy had, far from injuring him, elevated him in her eyes to the status of a tragic, romantic figure- which would have amused Rhett greatly, had he known.

Every time he called out, Rose became whiter.

Scarlett's frozen face was thoughtful.

Rhett had been right to be confused over the last few months. Scarlett herself could not have answered where her strange apathy had come from, or what it meant. She could trace its origins to around the time of Ella's miscarriage, but knew somehow it contained things far older, and deeper. Later centuries might have tagged it with crude labels, but they wouldn't have mattered to her. All she knew was that she felt numb. It was a similar, yet distinct, feeling from the strange disconnect she had felt after Bonnie's death. And it frightened her.

Rhett had, at first slyly, then with increasing directness, attempted to draw her out. She had resisted utterly, not out of cruelty, or because she wanted to punish him, but because there were no _words_ attached to this numbness. It was like a Kraken that extended from her heart to her limbs, weighing everything down, gathering everything in.

His awkward ploy with the Athenian woman – which had occurred after weeks of him growing increasingly desperate before her – would not have pierced through the armor of her numbness even had she really thought him unfaithful. She _had _been angry, briefly, when he confessed – not, strangely enough, at him, but at the threat to the numbness, of which she was growing increasingly protective. She had vented that anger in a brief burst of profanity, but sank back into the apathy almost as soon as it had left her lips.

It was not a question of believing. As Rhett in September of 1873 had believed her declaration of love, she now believed in the declaration of his innocence. And as for him then, it was of little moment to her now.

The only change in the aftermath was his attitude. He seemed to understand, finally, that there was nothing tangible she was holding back. His attempts to entice her to talk, while never ceasing completely, became increasingly sporadic, and half-hearted.

And now, in his fevered state, he was calling, not for her, but for Bonnie. She thought of Rhett, waiting, while she hovered between life and death after her miscarriage. She _had _called for him, even if he hadn't known it. He wasn't calling for her.

What did that mean?

~~oo~~

_Rose was dreaming._

Thad had fallen behind with her during the next day's walk by the lake. The boys had gamboled ahead, and the grown-ups were making energetic strides, spurred by the beauty of their surroundings and the mild, warm weather.

"Did you sleep well?"

She stared at him. He had never 'made conversation' with her before.

"No", she glowered. He gave a short, odd, laugh. She stopped, and let the words she'd been holding back tumble from her lips. "I _still_ don't understand why we can't be alone anymore. I'm ….taller now, maybe, but I'm not any different than I was six months ago. _You're_ not any different. So why?" She had realized, last night, that she loved him. But _he_ did not know – would never know, if she could help it.

"Rose." There were no mores in their culture that could have bridged the gap in understanding between them. Her love was, as of yet, even less corporal than Scarlett's infatuation for Ashley had ever been. But there was _something_ between them now. Years of closeness wiped out by something she had neither anticipated nor desired.

He took a deep breath. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" she scowled. Perhaps she hoped that, by being childish, and contrary, things would go back to the way they had been?

He held out his own. "Please."

Reluctantly, she laid her right hand in his.

A strange, electrical sensation shot through her, like a circuit closing. He dropped her hand like a hot coal, and took a step back. An uneven, staggering step, completely devoid of his usual grace. He pushed back his black curls with a quick, tense motion.

"What was that, " she whispered, confused. She _knew_ his body. They had climbed all over him ever since they were children. He had bounced them about on his shoulders –tickled them mercilessly- swung them around until they were dizzy. She did not connect it to her love. His body had never done this before.

"God." The strange look on his face had, if anything, gotten stranger. "This is worse than I thought," he murmured.

"What did I do wrong now?" she asked, anxiously.

"Nothing, Rosey." He stared at her, his eyes skimming the soft curves she had grown while she was gone. She felt suddenly self-conscious.

"I'm going to go to Houston for a bit."

"But why?" She was really afraid, now. "You said you'd be here for the entire week!"

"I know. I'm sorry. But you see….."

She did _not_ see. Not at all. "May I come, too?" she pressed, heedlessly. She had accompanied him in the past, as had the boys.

"No." His body was tense with flight instinct, poised only to get away. That, she could read with ease. Her eyes fell.

"It would be exceedingly dull, Rosey. Just a lot of meetings and paperwork."

"I understand," she said, morosely. They were not friends anymore, that much was clear. She started moving away. She didn't turn again. When she caught up with the group, she felt her mother's eyes rest on her, and then swirl to him. With something like fear.

~~oo~~

Rose sat beside him when he woke up. She saw his black eyes open, and see her.

"How bad it it?" he whispered. When she didn't reply, he attempted a grin, that came out more like a grimace.

"You were delirious." she said. "Exhaustion, and the cold from the glacier water. But you're over the worst of it, I think. Your fever broke."

"Is…your mother all right? And everyone?"

"Yes."

His eyes closed with relief, then reopened. " You wouldn't lie to me?"

The blue eyes regarded him dispassionately. "I've only _knowingly_ lied to you once in my life, Daddy."

"Me, too." he said, softly.

She exhaled a breath that was almost a sigh. "I know." She adjusted the blankets, and added, in a steady tone, "But rest assured, they are all safe."

She was able to feed him soup, before he finally fell into a restful slumber.

"I think I'm going to leave," Scarlett announced, suddenly, over the supper table. "As soon as he's out of danger."

"Leave? Where?"

"I don't know. Probably …..probably Tara." A strange sensation stirred in her, almost like the echo of a feeling. _Tara. _"I'll take the boys. And send for Perry."

Rose regarded her thoughtfully. "All right."

~~oo~~

The next morning, Scarlett left for the train station, her youngest sons in tow. She left as Rhett had left Atlanta that fateful day in September, over nineteen years ago, drawn by the faint light of Tara as he had been drawn long ago by the faint glamour of the Old Days.

She had always wondered. Her straightforward, unanalytical mind had never entirely grasped how he could have left them. She, who had stayed with Melanie – whom she had hated – because she had promised Ashley. And because it was her duty. She, who had cared for her family at Tara after the war, even though she had felt very little affection for them at the time.

For all her protestations to the contrary, she had never understood how he could have left the children.

And now, for the first time, she understood. How his life with her could have seemed like little more than a comedy that was long over. A comedy upon which someone had simply forgotten to draw the curtain. And how he could have turned his back on the empty stage, and left without a backwards glance.


	20. Phoenix

_Thank you for all your wonderful thoughts and reviews. I am constantly amazed at your brilliance. I rarely give out a lot of clues, but you all are several steps ahead of me more often than not. Sanjo – your ability to casually knock every plot-nail on the head is astonishing. I did indeed think both Rhett and Scarlett suffered from Post Traumatic Stress, and that it was important for her to recognize and understand that this contributed to him leaving her at the end of the novel. FirthsDarcy, thanks for the vote of confidence. I apologize for the rollercoaster, but you're quite right …I think he had to understand what his leaving meant to her, and she needed to understand why he did it. Progress! _

_One thing I probably don't do a good job at explaining is that they were happy for the last 18 years. Not fairytale-perfect-no-conflicts-no-doubts happy, but that kind of happy doesn't exist. Now some stuff has come up, and it needs to be dealt with. And full disclosure: Helen, I think they can and should get back together. Not because it'll be sunshine and roses ever after, because it won't, but because I have the distinct feeling they'd be much worse off apart. Rhett certainly would, and probably even Scarlett, because she needs the kind of love she has for him for growth._

_I've always wanted to explore those lost little brothers, and how they fit into things, especially how Scarlett dealt with Bonnie's death, and how her mother's example affected her. This is my attempt._

* * *

**There'll be that crowd, that barbarous crowd, through all the centuries,  
**

**And who can say but some young belle may walk and talk men wild  
**

**Who is my beauty's equal, though that my heart denies,  
**

**But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child,  
**

**But that proud look as though she had gazed into the burning sun,  
**

**And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray.  
**

**I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God's will be done:  
**

**I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.**

** -W. B. Yeats**

It is perhaps not altogether surprising for those most familiar with Scarlett O'Hara Butler that the first emotion to return was _irritation_.

She started walking down the road at nine o'clock in the morning. She walked with an unhurried pace, for all the world like a woman taking a leisurely stroll after breakfast. She past the swampland to the right by the Flint river - former Slattery land - that Tara had long since absorbed as its own. She walked up to the crest of the hill, and stared into the distance, where the road dipped down and then up again, past the former site of Twelve Oaks, and then snaked in winding curves towards Jonesboro.

There was nothing to see. She pushed against the red earth with the sole of her shoes. She counted the blue-jays singing on top of the pine trees. She twirled around several times, making her skirts fly prettily, but there was nothing else to do here. Despite the fact that the trees shielded her from the view of the house, she did not wish to appear like _someone who was waiting for something_.

She stared once more down the road, squinting her eyes at the eastern sun. There was still nothing of interest on the horizon - not even a cloud of dust. Somewhat reluctantly, she turned back, and marched down the road again. When she arrived at the clump of cedars that marked the beginning of the driveway to Tara, she halted. The stump she had sat on, almost a life-time ago, to wait for Gerald's return from the Wilkes, had long withered.

She wished that she had gotten around to having that bench installed, that Will had been talking about. It would have given her an excuse to linger.

She turned back towards the house, ducking beneath the shadows of the trees. She craned her head back several times while she was walking, but she was careful not to turn her entire body. Or to stop. There was no one about to see her, not even the bay horse and the dappled grey mare who stood by the fence, swatting at flies with their tails, and twitching their ears. But it seemed a matter of principle.

She had spent six week at Tara already. In many ways, it was as it had been as when she was a very young girl. The wisteria was once more bright against the white-washed brick, and the Bermuda grass on the lawn was as green as memory, studded with noisy geese and turkeys. Melly's hen-house still stood, reinforced against predators, filled with the descendents of the chicken she had tended so successfully after the war. The orchard was rich with red apples and pink peaches. The stables were clean and well-swept. The cotton and the corn stood high in the orderly fields, awaiting its harvest – a few weeks later this year, because an unusually wet Spring had delayed the planting. There was nothing here to irritate even the most fastidious of co-owners.

Indeed, the feeling of irritation had been with her even prior to her arrival. It had, in fact, manifested itself after only a few days at sea, when she realized she was _out of the habit of sleeping alone_.

She did not know whether to be more surprised by the revelation itself, or by the fact that it had managed to nudge its way through the thick layers of the numbness, to lodge itself in her consciousness.

When the nightmares began shortly afterwards, she was forced to wonder if Rhett's presence had, perhaps, heretofore kept them at bay. They were nightmares of _falling_ – Bonnie from a pony. She down the stairs. And other nightmares, even worse than the former, filled with a nameless, shapeless horror, that was closing in on her, suffocating her. She would wake from them all, sweat-drenched and screaming. Severe enough that she delayed going to sleep. Severe enough that she contemplated returning on the next boat, back to Rhett, _simply to make them disappear_.

Somewhere during that interminable voyage, she realized she had come to depend on his presence. She mentally took out her compiled list of sins Rhett Butler had committed against her, and added this last item with a sort of grim satisfaction.

She was still having them almost nightly even after she and the boys arrived at Tara. She was hollow-eyed and pale, which her kin attributed to the ordeal she had just survived. They were very kind.

She enjoyed seeing Will again, and his equally taciturn son Seth, who helped with the running of the plantation. Suellen was as she had ever been – they would never be close, but they had managed to carve out a grudging sort of respect for the other over the years. Scarlett would have been the first to acknowledge that her lazy sister had mutated into an excellent housekeeper. Tara was well-run, and if, just as Old Miss had predicted, neither Suellen nor Will had managed to bestow the glamour upon it that Ellen had, they made up for it in quiet neatness and efficiency. Their daughters were grown and married, much to Scarlett's relief, for they all favored Suellen, both in looks and in character.

Belle, James and Jim had brought Perry, somewhat to Scarlett's satisfaction, for no other reason than that Belle's presence flustered Suellen inordinately. Belle had only stayed for one day, but of course the news got out anyways, and the neighborhood was set properly a-flutter, which would have been amusing under most other circumstances.

Scarlett was genuinely happy to see Belle again, and gently probed for news of Thad on Rose's behalf, but found his mother both vague and evasive on this subject. Scarlett was forced to remember that Belle, for reasons best known to herself, had never quite approved of Rose. Instead, Belle gave a vivid description of _Mrs. _Schafer_, a handsome young widow,_ _whom Thad was sure to marry before the year was out_.

Perry, who had apparently run into the lady on several occasions during his stay, supplied additional tidbits of long yellow hair, and a noteworthy figure, if his generous, demonstrating hand movements over his chest were anything to go by - all of which made Scarlett rather uneasy.

Perry had been delighted to see her and his twin, but chafed somewhat at exchanging the excitement of a large cattle ranch for the relative boredom of a cotton plantation. But the boys soon found ways to amuse themselves, and would go fishing by the river, or play hide-and-seek between the corn stalks, as Scarlett had done with the darkie children and the neighboring boys when she much younger.

The neighbors had welcomed her back kindly, despite her odd ways of associating with even odder people, which they had long grown accustomed to. The new century was creeping ever closer, and the old was receding even in the memory of the countryside, leaving behind the old glamour and the old mores.

Beatrice Tarleton and her daughters had stopped by, as had Sally Fontaine and Letitia Cooper, the new mistress of the former Twelve Oaks plantation. The visits afforded Scarlett the pleasure of knowing she had kept better than any of the younger Tarletons, or even Sally. They had asked questions about Europe, and commiserated with her on the flood. They asked about Rhett, and her older children. Beatrice heartily approved of Rose's becoming a doctor. They had met when the Butlers had visited Tara last year, and gotten along well.

"That's a sharp one," she added, looking at that damsel's mother with contemplation. "Doesn't take much after _you,_ I think." It would have been censure on the lips of anyone else at any other time, but there was esteem in her voice, that of one survivor for another. She had mellowed over the years, her fierce red hair was all white now, but she had a whole flock of horses again, and would talk endlessly about them, given the slightest encouragement.

In many ways, being here was as it had been when she was young, and carefree. The plantation did not need her assistance to run, and for once, she felt no impulse to usurp Suellen's position. She was able to spend time resting, catching naps during the day that were strangely enough less prone to nightmares than her attempts at nighttime rest. Sometimes she sat on the porch, and watched the children play, her mind in faraway places.

She became terrified when she saw the fires of Atlanta burning around her, the smells and the sounds vividly before her – and then found herself back in her porch-swing, looking over the fields at Tara. She became even more terrified when it happened again.

~~oo~~

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm going insane," she said to Will one humid afternoon by the pasture. They stood by the grey mare, whom Will was scratching absent-mindedly behind the ears. She had taken to trailing him in his afternoon walks about the plantation, his sharp eyes on the look-out for a fence that needed mending, or a ditch not properly drained. Somehow, she found his presence kept the horrors at bay.

Now the words tumbled out ….the nightmares, the visions.

He nodded. "I heard of such things happenin' to soldiers," he said, steadily. "Even I dream of the battles, sometimes. And the death. Worse when something bad happens, and reminds you."

"It's not just that," she said, feeling the desperate need to unburden herself to an understanding ear. "I haven't been able to …feel much of _anything _for months_."_ She told him of Ella's miscarriage. Her withdrawal from Rhett. The flood, and her flight.

"The feeling'll probably come back again," Will had said gently, chewing on a blade of straw. "You pulled through tougher stuff 'n this, and come out standing."

"That's just it", she replied, mournfully. "I'm wondering if it was finally ….too much? If Ella's losing the baby was the last drop." And then she had softly voiced her greatest fear- "Remember what you said at Pa's funeral? About people whose mainspring is busted, and who are better off dead?"

He nodded, slowly.

"The way I feel right now ….or _don't_ feel - I wonder if that's _me_."

He regarded her thoughtfully, for a long moment. She let her gaze drop.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?"

He almost grinned. "I never thought you'd be one to worry about such things."

"I didn't used to," she said, morosely. "It's only since I started feeling like _this_, that I began to wonder…. " She sighed, and added disjointedly, "Mother would be so disappointed in me."

He gave her an odd look. "Why do you say that?"

"She was always so…..strong. She never let anything…"

He gave her another odd look. "Perhaps she'd understand better'n anyone."

"Why's that?" she asked, confused.

He chewed on his blade of straw, thoughtfully. "'bout your Ma. There's something you don't know." He waited until the pale green eyes were trained upon him expectantly. "There was a boy she loved in Savannah, before she married. Her cousin. Named _Philippe_. Her father sent him away, and he was killed in a bar fight." He waited for the information to sink in before he added, "Mammy said she was dead inside, ever since then."

_Philippe_. Dilcey had said Ellen had called for a man named Philippe, just before she died. Mammy had been angry with Dilcey.

"When did Mammy tell you this?" She felt a stirring of disbelief, and then of indignation.

"Got it out of her just before she died. Or rather, she told me of her own accord. I figured she wanted me to know, just in case." He paused again, lifting his hand once more to scratch the horse. "Was a wise old soul, Mammy. Understood more'n most of us ever will."

"But Mother _loved_ Pa, and us…"

"Much as she was able, yes." It was perhaps most damning to the fair Ellen that there was not even a hint of condemnation in his pale eyes.

"You see," he said, carefully tying the ends of his thoughts together for her, when he saw her struggle, "you couldn't never live up to your ideal of your Ma, because she weren't a full person anymore by the time you met her. It's easy to be a saint, if you ain't really alive."

Churches crumbled into dust, were rebuilt, and tottered.

"But…"

"Now _you _…" He shook his head, and regarded her with a life-time of affection and esteem. "You always seemed so open to life. Open to love." The corners of his eyes crinkled at the memory. "Ain't to say you always loved …..wisely, 'cause we both know you didn't. But you always _loved_. Even if you made mistakes, and got things wrong sometimes, you were always tryin'."

"Perhaps," she said, softly, turning her head, faintly warmed by his praise. Then, irritation took hold again. "Certainly I haven't always loved …._wisely_. Or else I wouldn't have spent the last eighteen years with a man who…"

"Come now," Will chided, gently, his quiet voice even holding a trace of envy. "I weren't talking about Rhett, and you knew it. A blind man can see that he loves you. What you _didn't_ know 'till now, perhaps, is if he'd run away again, if he ever admitted to you just how much."

It was true, she realized. It wasn't Rhett's _love_ she had doubted. Just his courage.

And when he had finally been brave enough, she had left.

"And in the end, not even that matters all that much," Will added, contemplatively, his mind already moving forward. "Folks are gonna do what they're gonna do. Love, or not. Run, or not. What matters is that _you_ love _them_."

"Pa…"

"Your Pa loved your Ma, least as he understood her. Weren't the real her, but it was enough for him. _You_ love Rhett, and perhaps you know 'im better than your Pa did your Ma. At any rate, loving him took away that hungry look you had, and perhaps made you a better person. Only you can know that." He winked at her, and she smirked back at him, somewhat wryly. He turned his pink head towards the loud yells of the boys, who were playing Indian and Cowboys between the corn. "You did well with them boys," he added. "And them girls'll have a _real _woman to model themselves on, even if they don't always want to be like you, in _every_ respect."

She stared at him. She had not expected him to approve so openly of her mothering. "But Rose…."

"That one is trickier," he agreed. "But weren't _your_ fault. And she's better off, fer knowin' your struggles, and what it took to get you where you are, than if you'd been an idol in pretty clothes, that she could never live up to."

As always, his words shone with the comfort of truth.

~~oo~~

One balmy afternoon not long after their talk, she had gone into the enclosure underneath the gnarled cedars. She stood with a bent head, staring at the graves. _Ellen O'Hara, beloved wife_. She stared at the graves of the three little brothers that had died before they learned to walk. All three headstones bore the same inscription: _Gerald O'Hara, Jr_. She tried to remember something about the babies, especially the third little Gerald, who had been almost seven months at his death, but she could recall only disjointed images. She hadn't been a maternal little girl, but she remembered carrying him about sometimes, making him laugh. She remembered missing him when he was gone.

And for the first time it struck her as wildly, terribly odd that she possessed no mental image of her mother grieving. It had seemed natural at the time, and that, too, was wildly- terribly- odd, in retrospect. She had tried, and failed, to mimic that unnatural serenity after Bonnie's accident, after any calamity in her life, and she wondered, disjointedly, how that had hurt her. Will's words came rushing back to her, and she thought, _Mother didn't change after she lost them….. not because she was strong, but because she was already dead._

She stared at the little stones, and expected her tears to fall. But they did not.

She didn't cry until she turned back to Ellen's grave. She feel to her knees on the red, moist earth. She felt the tears fall silently at first, and then become a torrent. She wept for nearly an hour -heaving, wailing, sobs, not the pretty feminine tears of her girlhood, when she hadn't understood sorrow. She didn't know if she wept for Ellen, or for herself. She didn't think, _my mother could not judge me, because I never knew my mother. _She didn't think that she was now much older than Ellen had been when she died – that she had six living children who _knew_ her; sometimes, perhaps, to their detriment, as she had never known Ellen.

She only felt that she had stepped onto a different plane of life, one that her mother had never reached, and thus had no jurisdiction over. It was a looking-down sensation, utterly without judgment, but foreign to her who had always looked up.

When she rose, the first colors of evening had started to appear in the sky. Grey and pink and white alternated with the deeper blues to come. There was a wind in the pine trees, that swooped down, and ruffled the grass, and caused the cotton stalks to jingle.

~~oo~~

For the sixth time that day, she had cleared the driveway, and stared out at the winding road beyond. It was now late afternoon, but the September heat was still heavy in the air. She watched the lone figure in the distance approach, and grow ever larger. He was leading a limping horse by the reins. Suddenly, she couldn't hold herself back any longer. She started running. Her skirts were billowing behind her.

She didn't stop until she stood in front of him. "You're late," she said, in a slightly peevish voice.

He stared down at her, and smiled when he saw her eyes – the wide, devilish grin he had given her at the Twelve Oaks barbeque. "In your letter, you said two months." He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his shirt-pocket with a flourish. "It is now the 16th of September. Exactly two months to the day this letter was dated."

"But it's _late_!" she repeated, not very originally.

The black crescents went up. "Dare I hope you were wishing to see me sooner?"

"Oh, don't presume!" she huffed, turning away. He took hold of her arm, and turned her around to face him, gently but forcefully.

"My horse went lame just outside of Jonesboro. I've had to walk all the way here." There was still the hint of a smile on his lips.

She felt suddenly peeved again- peeved, irrationally, that he had come, and deprived her of her grievance. Peeved at his cheer. "I'm glad you find this all so amusing."

His expression became blank, and she saw the levity had been, once more, entirely counterfeit. "Amusing?" There was a subtle vibrato to his tone that was almost frightening. "The only thing that kept me from complete insanity was your letter. Such as it was. Telling me I could come after you in two months."

She swallowed, overpowered by the intensity of his gaze. She saw that he was dusty, and covered in sweat, and that he was swaying in the heat. "We shouldn't talk here, in the middle of the road. In this sun," she said, feebly. Behind them, Tara rose, the massive, front-facing windows hidden by the cedars.

His eyes seemed to take in his surroundings for the first time. The horse's paddock, the shadows of the avenue. "No," he agreed. He grabbed her arm again, firmly, and pulled her under the arch of the trees.

"Rhett!" she called out, in surprised protest. But she allowed herself to be pulled along.

Beneath the trees, all sounds were muffled. There was only a faint buzz of insects in the air, and even the birds seemed to feel the solemnity of the occasion, and hush.

She turned to look at him again. Even in the semi-darkness, out of the heat, she had to admit he did not look well. His face was lean, as if he hadn't been eating properly, and there were dark rings under his eyes. She doubted she looked much better herself.

Her treacherous body craved his presence. It had been almost two decades since they had spent this much time apart.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come, " she said, finally, to break the ominous, eerie silence.

She saw it flash in his eyes, that last thing he had left to give her, to surrender. The final remnant of his pride. When it was gone, his eyes were drained and dark.

Eventually, and she did not quite know how it happened, she took an infinitesimal step closer to him. She felt the gravel crunch under her feet, and betray her movement, her own surrender, that she'd been hoping to hide for another heartbeat. He didn't stir. She took another step. Now, she was so close that she was able to lean her dark head against his chest. He exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath.

"Thank God," he said, with a shuddering sigh. His chest heaved beneath her ear, and his arms went around her to clutch her tightly. She did not look up to see if he was weeping.

He pulled her ever closer. She closed her eyes. The abandoned horse neighed, and somewhere on the pasture, there was an answer.

There was a subtle hint of freshness in the summer air. Soon, it would be harvest time.


	21. Kalypso

_Thank you, dear readers, for your thoughts. We will get back to R&S soon, probably in the next chapter. Now, we need to spend some time with the Widow that Belle likes so much, as difficult as that might be. Hope you enjoy!_

_M rating for adult content. Nothing remotely graphic, but considered yourself warned. You may easily skip this chapter without losing anything._

_Edit to add: Of course I'll post The Talk™, Firth'sDarcy (you need an account so one can PM you. You wouldn't suffer as much. I promise. :) When have I ever been hampered by such miserable things as time-lines? This is ...Fall of 1893. Or actually, it hops around a lot, but it begins and ends in 1893. Next chapter, we hop back one year to Summer of 1892._

_Tweaked to clarify some issues._

* * *

**_"Thick, luxuriant woods grew round the cave,_**

**_alders, and black poplars, pungent cypress too,_**

**_and there, birds roosted, folding their long wings,_**

**_owls and hawks and the spread beaked ravens of the sea,_**

**_black skimmers who make their living off the waves._**

**_And round the mouth of the cavern trailed a vine_**

**_laden with clusters, bursting with ripe grapes._**

**_Four springs in a row, bubbling clear and cold,_**

**_running side-by-side, took channels left and right._**

**_Soft meadows spreading round were starred with violets,_**

**_lush with beds of parsley. Why, even a deathless god_**

**_who came upon that place would gaze in wonder,_**

**_heart entranced with pleasure._**

**_ -Homer, The Odyssey "Kalypso's Cave"_**

Genevieve Schafer, known to her numerous intimates as _Gina_, slowly detangled herself from the soft white bed sheets, and sat up. Her thick yellow hair fell over her shoulders in a delightfully tangled cascade, and even while rising she smoothed it back with her fingers, ever mindful of her appearance. Thad was sleeping beside her – an unusual occurrence, for he seemed to need less sleep than ordinary mortals, and was usually up and about long before her, on those rare nights that he slept over.

Her eyes traced his heavy shoulder muscles with some possessiveness. He was _hers._ He was handsome, and wealthy, and she now had every intention of marrying him. She had his mother's approbation, and in her mind it was only a matter of time before he, too, would succumb. He had never promised her wedlock - he had, in fact, gone out of his way to assure her he had no such intentions – but men were fickle under the best of circumstances, and could be relied on to change their minds, if properly managed.

If Thad had proven difficult to manage thus far, it was, she reasoned, because he still harbored illusions about the curly-haired girl-woman that she had resented almost from the first time she'd heard her name. She had found out about her, not from Thad, but from Belle, when she had expressed her frustration that Thad had not proposed. Despite her increasing hints that he should. Despite the fact that they had been seeing each other for years.

"Fancies himself in love with someone," his mother had informed her, with some derision. "Fell for a pretty face, just like a man. But she ain't right for him." She had assessed Gina candidly, adding, "You'll do much better."

Gina's vanity had been gratified, if for the wrong reasons. In reality she had no idea why Belle should prefer herself to Rose as a wife for her son, and she did not really care, as long as it worked in her favor. Her worries were further soothed when she heard of Rose's parentage – certainly not what someone of Thad's background could hope to aspire to. She herself was not bothered by illegitimacy, if illegitimacy was tall of stature, and broad of shoulders, and came wrapped up in money, and position. She stemmed from a line of indentured servants who'd risen to owning a decrepit, dusty piece of land that they clung to precariously, lest they be swept back into the abyss. She had married at sixteen, somewhat above her station, to the foreman of Thad's Ranch. Because she'd been pretty, and determined. She still was.

When her husband had fortuitously tidied himself away almost a decade later by allowing himself to be gored by a steer, he had left her a log cabin on the outskirts of town, and a small independence.

She had been aware of Thad for years, and had often tried to improve their acquaintance, when she ran into him at dances, charity events, or a social function at the Ranch. But he had heretofore remained aloof, if courteous. But only a few weeks into her widowhood, he had suddenly been at her door after suppertime.

"May I come in?" he had asked. He had smiled, standing in her narrow door-way, and flicked back an errant curl. That slight toss of his head made him beautiful, as movement always did. Her lips had curved in anticipation.

It was, of course, entirely improper for a widowed lady to entertain a gentleman without chaperone, at that late hour no less, but she was no lady, and her cabin was far enough off the road that no one would see him enter.

"But of course." She had stepped aside. She was not wearing black, and she asked herself if he would judge her. She thought not, as she watched his eyes glide over her form appreciatively. His presence dwarfed the small room. She had purged it of her husband's belongings, selling or giving away most of the items that reminded her of him. It was now a soft, feminine space, filled with colorful pillows, and billowing curtains - entirely hers.

He had looked down at her quizzically, after he had declined the drink she offered him. "It's been a while since I've seen you, Mrs. Schafer. How have you been keeping?"

"All right, I guess." She smiled demurely. Her accent was purely Texan, with its unique blend of Upper and Lower South influences. When she tried, she could infuse it with a soft, throaty flavor. She was trying now. "It's a hard world, for a woman, all by herself…"

Even _she_ could not be more blatant than that.

He gave a short laugh, and seemed to decide to dispense with the preliminary pleasantries. "Yes. It is on precisely that business that I'm here." His rich, dark voice contained a hint of drawn-out, Charlestonian vowels. Gina would never learn that it was not his true voice. He had stepped closer to her, close enough so she could feel the heat of his body. "You see, now with Harald gone, I would like to offer you…an arrangement." When she had lifted her eyebrows in feigned confusion, he clarified, willing to play along with the game to a certain extent, "To share a bed with me, whenever I can spare the time to come here. You will find me …generous with money." She had opened her eyes widely, and with, she hoped, convincing astonishment. He held up his hand. "Just so there's no mistake, I have no intention of marrying you, and I know how to prevent pregnancy, so there should be no chance of getting you with child."

She had been somewhat offended by the plainness of his talk. She had not been faithful to her husband, but none of her other lovers had ever made a proposal quite as cold-blooded as he. She would almost have been less mortified had he tried to seduce her first, and given her the opportunity to appear overcome by his charms, as his many predecessors had done. As if reading her mind, he said, "I would also have to insist that you discontinue ….any other arrangements you may currently have. While my views are ….liberal in some respects, I do not share."

She flushed, when he added, "and don't think you could hide them from me. I always find out." He'd smiled, as if laughing at her, and at himself, but she'd understood the underlying threat quite well. He had a reputation for chivalry with regards to women, but those unfortunate men that had thought to challenge him in the local saloons were apt to find themselves without teeth, or broken bones, or worse.

She'd tossed her head. "And if I do…conceive?"

"I would take care of any child that is mine." She saw something flash in his eyes, that she couldn't understand. "But as I said, you will find me ….quite experienced in avoiding such a complication."

She attempted to hide a smirk. She was just as adept as he at avoiding an unwanted pregnancy. Perhaps more so.

He had lifted his large hand, and run his thumb over her lower lip in a teasing manner. "So you understand me ….. there is no hope of marriage. If that is what you seek, you will have to look for it elsewhere."

She had thought about it briefly, and nodded. She had no desire to tie the knot again right now, aside from pecuniary considerations that he had offered to alleviate. If she should want to marry him, later …she would change his mind. She gave no thoughts to the pleasures of bedding him, beyond what it might motivate him to do for her. He smiled, as if he read her thoughts in her face, but waited patiently for her next move.

She lifted her head to be kissed. He lowered his lips to hers, and at his touch she felt the controlled savagery in him, that she would spend months and years trying to unleash without success. He pushed her into the adjourning bedroom, and with a quick, smooth movement, tore her dress off her voluptuous, uncorseted frame.

"That was my favorite dress," she mumbled, already lost to coherence. There was a disconcerting pulse behind her eyes, blurring her vision. She fought to regain control, even as she felt herself being lowered backwards onto her bed. It was not _he_ who was supposed to hold himself back, keep the vital parts of his self out of reach. She was not supposed to give in. She was …

"Add it to my bill," he murmured. His lips were soft, warm, demanding on hers.

She surrendered herself to his hands, and to his probing lips. She was no innocent herself, but she had found him to be almost….._ indecently_ experienced. Enough to draw pleasure from a body accustomed to taking pleasure only in power. He knew all there was to know about distraction, counter-irritants, and even more devious ways to keep her arousal simmering at an almost unbearable level, before he finally permitted her release. There was nothing in the realms of intimacy that seemed new to him, although he surprisingly kept their love-making within fairly conventional limits. On the few occasions that she had, nettled by his reticence, tried to push him beyond the boundaries of the ordinary, he had stopped her, not as one shocked, but was one who has traveled down those roads, and had, overall, not found them to his liking.

This disconcerted her, for she felt it robbed her of her base of dominance. It also renewed her interest in his past. He had told her next to nothing about his childhood, and on that subject alone his mother, too, proved less than open. Gina surreptitiously studied his body, especially the odd pattern of round burn marks on his right thigh, and she wondered how they, and other old injuries had come about.

Once, laying next to him, she had attempted to trace the scars on his thigh with her long fingertips. Swift as a falcon, he had grabbed her hand, and drawn her away.

"What _is_ that?" she asked.

"Nothing." His tone invited no further inquiries. She had decided, after a while of studying them without _appearing_ to study them, that they were most likely cigar burns, and that they must have been intentionally inflicted. By whom? They were old injuries, from the white, faded looks of them. He must have been quite young.

But he kept the secrets of his body as tightly as he guarded the secrets of his mind. It was disconcerting, and frustrating, for most men were simple enough to understand. Thad remained an enigma, more so, perhaps, because it was not just a façade that he cultivated. He carried his silence like the kindness one has for a child, and if she had had a mind for such concepts, she might have said that she felt infantilized. But she did not possess such a mind, and she was only able to conclude that he held back to retain the upper hand, and to resent him for it.

Deprived of the weapons of Kalypso, she opted for the charms of Nausikaa, however little they suited her. "Why me?" she had asked, coquettishly, on more than one occasion, hoping to draw him out.

"You were available, and you have the right kind of house," he'd grinned. She feared he was not entirely joking.

"But you made the offer to be your …mistress, before you'd even slept with me," she fished, hopefully. "Perhaps you were secretly in love with me from afar?" She was not wise, nor particularly intelligent, although she possessed a certain amount of street smarts. She was used to men falling in love with her. She could have easily married again. Her arrangement with Thad, which was apparently well-known, had kept the men who worked at the Ranch at a careful distance, but there were others, less aware, or perhaps less wise, who had nonetheless made their interest clear.

"Bob Raymond works at my Ranch," he'd shrugged, and rolled over. She colored. Bob had been a former lover of hers. Her temper flared.

"So you ….asked him about me?"

His black eyes had danced. "But of course."

"You ….." she huffed. She was genuinely insulted this time … insulted because Thad had, as they say, _checked out the goods _after all, and insulted because Bob had, apparently, not been nearly as surprised and heart-broken as he had pretended to be, when she broke off their affair. To think how she had attempted to console him!

Her life quickly fell into a new routine. Thad came by regularly, but not very frequently. He stayed in Houston for extensive periods, and with time she understood that he viewed the Ranch as a diversion, pleasant enough, but kept around mainly because he enjoyed the countryside, and the life-style. He made his fortune through investments that he spoke little about. He had never offered to take her to Houston, and was impervious to her hints that he should.

He was as generous with money as he had alleged, and, given how infrequent their trysts were in the scheme of things, it would have been much more economical for him to visit one of the local bawdy houses. But rumor had it he had an aversion to such places, perhaps due to his mother's former occupation.

When he came by, he stayed only briefly. If he did stay overnight, he brought books with foreign titles that he'd read after their encounters, often in lieu of talking to her. It was offensive, in a way, to be regarded as nothing more than a body, although she was accustomed to it. It was even more offensive that he never surrendered her his own carnality. That he remained in complete control of their encounters, that the animal savagery that she felt within him was never unleashed in her presence. Or so she told herself.

It was a late night in September that she learned that that might after all be a good thing. She had made the mistake of asking him about Rose. She had once again hinted at marriage, and he had merely cocked his dark eyebrows at her.

"You knew from the outset that that wasn't an option. If it proves too difficult for you, we can discontinue our arrangement at any time."

The casual tone cut her vanity, and more.

"But we're good together," she argued. "And you should have a wife…."

He grinned. "You've been talking to my mother again."

She had indeed run into Belle that very morning. She gave what she hoped was an adorable shrug as she stepped out onto thin ice. "Your mother says you're in love with your cousin." She regarded him narrowly, hoping he would prove her wrong.

He had turned, and for the first time, he honestly frightened her. "If I were you, I would drop that particular topic."

But she had pressed on, heedless and incautious. "A _Butler,_ no less. Fat chance you'd…." She saw his eyes again, and vowed she would never again regret his reticence. For a brief moment, she was afraid he would strike her. Instead, he got out of bed, dressed himself, and left. He didn't return for three months.

When he did return, his eyes challenged her to reopen the subject, but she was not quite _that _unwise. They fell back into their pattern of occasional visits. He was, if anything, even more remote. She was, if anything, even more determined to wed him. Not because her affection for him had increased, for in all honesty, she found his character off-putting at this point, but because he was rich, and because she couldn't bear to be out-done by an anemic virgin. And because, despite his many shortcomings, he was the only man who had ever drawn pleasure from her jaded body, and she had no intention of giving him up. Thad would marry _her_, whether he liked it or not.

One day, when he seemed in a more leisurely mood than usual, she asked him why he didn't stop by more often.

"You have no problems with …..performance when you're here," she had mocked. "So why do you come here so rarely? It seems like a bad use of an investment to me." The thought had occurred to her that, perhaps, he kept other mistresses. Perhaps in Houston? It was a disquieting thought.

He'd laughed, and played with her long tresses. For a minute, she was certain he wouldn't answer her. "I come here often enough to feed the demons," he'd said, then, making no sense to her. "They demand contact with ….a real woman, every once in a while. I give them their due, so they don't rage out of control." He'd leaned over her, staring into her blue eyes with his black ones. "How does it feel, to be demon fodder?" he'd asked. She'd giggled, sure that he was jesting, and he'd kissed her, nipping at her lower lips until she yelped. His soft lips had always been his most devastating weapon. By the time he started caressing her curves, she had succumbed again.

Only later did she think about his words once more, and they began to take on a new, ominous meaning, one not at all aligned with her plans. She began to reconsider her options. If she could not lure him into wedlock by lust, or love, there was one other way she had not yet tried. Perhaps, it was time to resort to what her Mother had called the more obvious weapons. After all, she reasoned – desperate times called for desperate measures.

~~oo~~

It was dark by the time Thad left. Even though he chose his partners carefully, there was always an uneasy feeling at the back of his mind when he thought of them. Gina was independent, selfish, and experienced – all of which made her an ideal partner for such an arrangement as this. He willingly paid more than market value in money and pleasure, but he did not deal in forced sales, or broken hearts. But the uneasy feeling remained. For a sensual nature, any intimate encounter, even one as coldly entered into as theirs, always carries within itself both the threat of the abyss and the divine. Unlike Rhett at a similar age, Thad never underestimated the power of mere bodies. What Gina had, half-correctly, identified as _controlled savagery_ was, in reality, a precise navigation between equally powerful, but opposing forces. He knew that to close yourself off completely from the divine spark only serves to bring the abyss that much closer, and with it, the triumph of the demons. He did not love Gina. But when she writhed at his touch, or undulated under him, there were moments – briefly- when she was more than merely a woman. He could not see her too often.

He had not lied to her when he told her he visited to keep demons at bay. He knew himself thoroughly …as do those that have travelled all the dark roads of their mind at a young age, and returned to tell the tale. He had grabbed ahold of his love for Tasha as a life-boat that pulled him out of the dark places, and he had repaid her for rescuing him by causing her death. He would carry that burden of his youthful folly to the end of his days. He knew when his body craved food, or water, or the simple contact with human skin. He knew the dangers of denying it too long, or to indulge it too frequently.

He knew, also, that part of what his mother had implied was correct. It was time that he chose a wife. He had always wanted children ….children to raise, and love, and teach, as he had taught his younger cousins. As his own father had never taught him.

As he stepped briskly up the hill, he wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it was that he was waiting for. Rose had been away for almost two years now ….and she had never written him, or explained her behavior during their last encounter. Rhett had written –Scarlett had written, and even _Wade_ had written to explain about the Cherry incident. Who had _not_ written, was Rose herself. He had tried to make allowances for her youth, and for her pride, and her shame, but those allowances only went so far.

He sighed. No, he had never even given a thought to marrying Gina, but Texas was full of eligible, intelligent, educated women who wouldn't mind his birth, who would be amiable companions, who would give him children to love.

But they would not be Rose.

He thought of them, sitting for hours against the wall by the stable, her face haloed by starlight, talking about everything and nothing. He thought of her eyes, trembling between laughter, and passion, and terror, in the corridor of her parent's home the morning after the dance. He thought of his hands on her body during the waltz, and how it had felt to finally hold her.

He called himself a romantic fool, waiting around for almost a decade for a woman who clearly wanted nothing more to do with him. For all he knew, she had met someone else in Scotland. His business partners had for years wanted to introduce him to the Annamaries and Heathers and Elizabeths that were their daughters, and nieces, and cousins - amiable, virtuous, and available.

He broke through the clearing, and saw the lights of the house below him. Perhaps he should finally give them a chance.

* * *

_PS: Thad is...35ish here. I had him down as 17 during MMS, and roughly 18 years have passed. An age where a man would think about settling down & raising a family. Especially since Rose is being so Rhett-ish, and not writing!_


	22. Lightbringer

_Thanks for the reviews for the Black Widow (she was meant to be a much more immoral "Scarlett-light", but not completely detestable). Belle and Rose …I think Anna hit it on the head when she said Belle would like the mistress to become the wife, for once. Also, Rose may have been a bit shy around her, which in some people can look like arrogance (exhibit A: Georgiana Darcy). And the widow now wants to become pregnant so he'll marry her._

_I took out the intro - enough people have told me that it was too scary that I think it was...too scary. Sorry. I'll figure out a way to explore the "Demons" in a more constructive manner. For now, we'll do what I should have done in the first place ...just some nice R&S fluff. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Atlanta- Summer of 1892

The landscape slid by beyond the windows, giving her the paradoxical sensation that she was sitting still, and the world whipping past them. She glanced at Rhett, sitting beside her, his tall frame slumped against the wall. His eyes were closed. He looked dreadfully tired.

"Are you comfortable," he murmured, having apparently felt her stir.

"I'd be much _more _comfortable if you hadn't insisted we leave Tara right after suppertime," she complained. "We could be in bed right now."

"I'm thrilled that you seem so… impatient, Mrs. Butler. We'll be _in bed_ soon enough." Even his closed eyes didn't prevent his brows from rising suggestively.

Scarlett flushed. "I meant that we could be _sleeping _in bed by now. I don't think you're even up to …whatever it is you're insinuating!" She looked at him more closely, and the irritation faded from her voice. "Rhett. You look tired to death."

"Not sleeping for two months will do that to you," he agreed amicably, if sleepily. One black eye opened, looked at her, and closed again. "You look rather worn out yourself, Mrs. Butler."

Her vanity was ruffled, but she knew he was telling the truth. "All the more reason to stay at Tara."

He gave the merest hint of a headshake, but his irrepressible hand snaked out, and pulled her close. "I'd rather be alone with you."

She knew him too well, but she abandoned her argument. It was pointless, and he was right – they would be in Atlanta soon enough.

~~oo~~

An hour later, they walked into the opulent lobby of the National. Scarlett looked around warily …some of the best memories of her former marriage had lived in this place. But now, she had other memories – memories that were infinitely dearer, and warmer.

"The Honeymoon Suite awaits you, Captain Butler." From the look the concierge gave Rhett, the myth - or rather the scandal - of the Butler name had not faded completely over the years, and their arrival would be "out" by tomorrow morning at the latest. She almost smirked.

She watched Rhett, a bit unsure he wouldn't faint before they even made it to their hotel room. He had swayed precariously again in the lobby. But he seemed to regain some of his verve, climbing the stairs with so much energy that she was afraid he would start to whistle. Once inside their suite, she tipped the porter, and looked around. The room had been renovated several times since they'd last been here, the color-scheme now a somewhat more sedate gold-and-white. She hardly recognized it. She exhaled. Just as well.

She turned to her husband again. He was smiling at her, but she noticed he was shivering. "Rhett. Go to bed, " she said, with concern. "You're going to fall down."

"I never fall," he grinned. Scarlett did not heed him. She walked up to him and pushed him backwards, onto the covers. He was shivering harder. She felt his forehead like a sick child. He wasn't hot, or feverish ….it was probably, she thought, really complete and utter physical exhaustion. When had he really last slept? She helped him out of his clothes, swatting away his errant hand, which apparently not even near coma could prevent from trying to snake around her waist. She tucked him in firmly, and doused the light.

"Scarlett," he murmured. "Lay next to me."

She slipped out her own clothes, grateful she had dispensed with corsets while at Tara. She skipped everything nonessential about her_ toilette_, including brushing her hair. She would untangle it tomorrow. Dressed only in her chemise, she slipped under the covers beside him. He grabbed her lithe form greedily, and pulled her close. He buried his head in her hair, inhaling her rosewater scent. She put her arms around him, and started stroking his back gently, sensing he craved _touch_ more than anything. After a few minutes, his deep breathing showed that he had fallen fast asleep, and his shivering eased.

Scarlett, although quite tired herself, reflected for a moment. She almost laughed. Not quite the reconciliation she had envisioned, but …..

She laid back her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She was home.

~~oo~~

Sunlight flooded the room when she awoke. She blinked, and experienced a moment of disorientation. She remembered she was in Atlanta. Her limbs were tangled with Rhett's, as they had been for the last eighteen years, minus two months. She had not had a single nightmare.

She pushed herself into a half-sitting position. He appeared to be still sleeping. She bent over him, staring into his familiar face. He looked infinitely better than yesterday, a lot of deep lines smoothed out as if by magic, and his skin no longer grey. But he still looked far from well.

Suddenly, swift as lighting, he had opened his eyes, grabbed her, pushed her back into the pillow, and kissed her.

"Hey!" she protested, when she could breathe again. "That was…. a nasty trick."

"Was it?" he murmured, his dark eyes gleaming. "There are several words that have come to women's mind in the past when they kissed me, but "nasty" isn't one of them."

"Conceited varmint." She smiled up at him. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long," he said. "It's almost three o'clock. We must have both been….tired."

"Three! But…."

"Relax, Scarlett. We have the_ Suite_ as long as we want it."

"But I'm hungry," she complained. She was hungry, but that is not why she had said it. She felt shy before him.

"Consistency, thy name is woman," he said. "You shall be fed, my dear." He got up from the bed, looking for his clothes.

He was as good as his word. Scarlett would never know whom he had bribed to rustle up breakfast at this hour, but she had to admit her husband was nothing if not resourceful. Within half an hour, she was consuming a large breakfast of coffee, bacon, ham, eggs, toast, and mountains of strawberry jelly.

"There's more in the kitchen," he said. She stuck out her tongue at him. She felt ravenously hungry. Rhett, too, was eating more than his usual allotment. When they were full, he cleared their plates, undressed, and slid back into bed with her.

He looked thoughtful. "I guess we both haven't been eating well."

"I guess," she said, suddenly shy again. He leaned over her, pulling up her chin.

"Promise me."

"What," she said, feeling if anything even more inhibited than before.

"Promise me you'll never leave me again," he said, softly. "My heart may not be able to take it next time."

Guilt flooded over her, thinking how worn out he had looked._ Still_ looked, if she was honest with herself.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispered. "I just…"

"I know you didn't," he said, simply. "God knows I've run away too many times myself - and rarely did I do you the courtesy of leaving a letter, telling you when and where you could see me again. I didn't mean to upbraid you. Just to state a fact. " He inhaled, quickly. "My health is not what it used to be, and not having you next to me does terrible things to my sleep."

She attempted to explain, in fumbling words, how she had felt. "It was as if I was ...frozen. After Ella's miscarriage, this numbness just fell down on me. I couldn't feel _anything_. I think I never understood what it was like, for you after Bonnie's death. I never understood how you could …..just leave like that. Now, I do." Her green eyes pleaded with him.

"Then one good thing came out of it all," he said, softly, stroking her face. "And now?"

She gave a half-hearted attempt at a giggle. "I felt _irritated_ when I realized I missed you sleeping next to me. And even _more _irritated when you didn't come first thing in the morning."

He laughed, and she let the sound wash over her. "Irritation is a start. Anything else that you might want to share... with your loving husband?"

Hesitatingly, she told him about the nightmares, and Will's words. Her revelation at the grave.

"If I hadn't wanted to live up Mother's ideal, I would probably never have fallen for Ashley," she explained, thoughtfully. "If I just could have accepted myself, and not tried to be like her. It was... such a waste. Especially now that I know what happened."

He nodded, thoughtfully, perhaps a bit surprised at her introspection. "Yes. That makes a lot of sense." He yawned.

She laughed. "I'm glad I'm such entertaining company, Captain Butler. You can barely keep your eyes open."

He smiled rakishly. "Sorry. I seem to be showing my age."

"It's all right," she said, softly. "I think we should just….rest. You do look so… tired, Rhett." An idea struck her. "Wait here." She hopped out of bed, rummaged through the closet, and withdrew a bottle of oil from her luggage.

He eyed it with interest.

"Lay down, and open your robe," she ordered. With a salacious grin, he complied. She started rubbing the oil over his dark, matted chest, and his eyes started to gleam even more appreciatively. A bit too appreciatively. "No hands," she told him, firmly. "This is a _relaxing_ massage."

"But I am relaxed," he told her, his hand once more snaking up her thigh. She shivered involuntarily. "It's _you_ that seems somewhat ….. tense, Mrs. Butler," he added with fake concern, while he continued to stroke her leg. "Perhaps _you_ should lay down?"

"Rhett, I ….."

He half-rose, catching her hand in mid-motion, stilling it. "Scarlett." All mirth had vanished from his face. "Please. Let me…touch you. Let me make love to you. _Now._ Not later. Being so far away from you made me want to crawl out of my skin, and now ….I can't get close _enough_," he said. She stared at him, and her heart almost stopped at the expression on his face.

"Rhett." She couldn't bear that look. She kissed him gently, and then rested her full weight on his chest. "Is _this_ close enough?" she whispered. His hands were now touching her all over, hitching her nightgown up to somewhere above her shoulders, relentlessly drinking her lips. He finally hosted himself up again, and pulled the nightgown completely off in one smooth movement.

"No," he said, as he slid himself over her warm, welcoming body. "Not yet."

~~oo~~

"I guess I should see about dinner," he said, when nine o'clock still found them drowsy and entangled. It was pitch-black outside again. They had slept throughout most of the day. When they were not making love.

She smiled up at him, perfectly content. "I guess you should." She stretched, luxuriously. "I wonder why no one came."

"I gave strict instructions that we should not be disturbed."

She rolled her eyes. "I should have known."

He pushed back her black tresses, and gazed intently into her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said, blushing, suddenly sounding as earnest as a schoolgirl. "Even when I was numb. I always saw it, underneath all that ice. Like a river frozen at the top, with fish underneath." She laughed with some embarrassment, for she was not usually given to metaphors. "But I knew it was there."

"Me, too," he said, softly. When she looked at him, questioning, he added, "When I left Atlanta. Your _frozen river_ is actually a beautiful, and apt, analogy. There were still emotions …" he caught himself, and started over, "there was still_ love_ underneath, but I believed the top would never thaw out again. That any feelings would remain eternally encased in a thick sheet of ice."

"It's good that you were wrong," she whispered.

He pulled her close. "I _was_ wrong." His hands were absentmindedly stroking her hair. "I've been….happy these last eighteen years, Scarlett. Happy with you. Happy with our family. And happy with the decision I made to stay. If I had the choice, I would go through it all again– even the blackest moments – to be here with you, today. To be …..a part of our family. Our life together."

"Even…."

He did not flinch. "Yes. Even that." He was caressing her face again, and his voice was gentle. "I would rather have known Bonnie, and lost her, than never to have known her at all. As we've both now seen, learning to _live with pain_, and appreciating one's blessings, as hard as it is - is preferable to the pain of not living."

She was crying. Thick, cascading drops coursed over her cheeks. He stroked her tears with his thumb, and kissed her, until she smiled at him.

"Now what about dinner?" Revelations were still hard for him. They always would be. But he was trying.

She smiled more broadly, pulling him down on her. Her searching lips found his. "No," she murmured. "Not yet."


	23. The boulders that have fallen

_Thanks for the lovely reviews. FirthsDarcy, I hope this answers your concerns about Rhett's health. This is a transitional chapter ….it will move the location from Charleston to Texas. It also sets up some of the themes I wish to explore, so please pardon me for being somewhat all over the place. Dear guests who asked: No, I won't just reunite Rose and Thad and be like, "there, all done." They got lots of stuff to work through, if they can make it at all. One of the things I look forward to exploring is Scarlett using her new-found insight (not to mention her old tricks) when advising Rose in matters of the heart. Hope it'll be interesting, and that you enjoy!_

* * *

Rose alighted out of the closed two-horse carriage that had picked Cherry and herself up from the train depot. She looked around. Down the elegant, tree-lined shadows of Rutledge Avenue, and back to the house. Everything about her old home seemed the same. The black wrought-iron gate with its fanciful, interlacing ornaments opened to a stone walk-way bordered with pansies. Early pink and purple azaleas spilled from the terraces, and ran in double circles around the house. The Camellia bush beneath her bedroom window was showing its first, reddish-white buds.

Cherry looked around as well. "This is it, then."

The two young women exchanged a glance – at once understanding, and resigned. They had lived almost as sisters for the last two years. Now, they would each step back into their respective roles, as iron-clad as they were inescapable.

"Yes. This is it." Some somber feeling added a dark undertone to Rose's voice. "Feel free to visit with your family, Cherry. I don't know what Mother's plans are, but I doubt I'll be needing you anytime soon." Cherry nodded.

They moved at precisely the same time. Rose towards the front door, Cherry towards the back of the house.

James was waiting for her looking more regal than ever. He had not left his post to greet his daughter. "Hello, Miss Rose. Or rather, it is Dr. Butler now, isn't it? It's good to see you." She smiled at him. "It is good to be home, James. How have you been?"

"Very well, Miss Rose. Mr. and Mrs. Butler are not home yet. There is tea in the parlor, should you desire refreshment. Prissy will be happy to serve you anything else you need."

"Thank you, James. Please visit with Cherry – she's gone to the back to see her mother. I assume Prissy is in the kitchen?"

"I will see Cherry later. When my duties permit." He started down the walkway, to assist Jim with the luggage.

Rose stood in the middle of the hallway, undecided. She felt strange and out of place. It was oddly quiet.

Suddenly, as if in response to an unasked question, a door upstairs burst open, and a boy hurled himself down the stairs at top-speed.

"Hello Rose," Perry said, breathlessly, after he managed to arrest his forward motion just before colliding with the front door. "Can you ask Mother to take us back to Texas? I had so much more fun there.". He eyed her, and added a perfunctuary, "hello, howhaveyoubeen?" Rose sighed.

A female voice from upstairs shrieked.

"What was that?"

"Miss Addy. Sounds like she found the mousetrap in the science project," Perry grinned.

"Perry!"

The shriek grew in intensity. Rose wasted no further time in reproaching him. She ran quickly up the stairs, and turned right into the school room. Miss Addy hopping on one leg, a small mousetrap stuck to the fingers of her right hand.

"Miss Addy," Rose said. The other woman continued to scream, without heeding her.

"Miss Addy." A lot louder, and firmer. Miss Addy stopped. "Give me your hand." Within seconds, the spring had been released by Rose's nimble fingers, and the governess was seated on the settee, cradling her hand. Rose went back downstairs to find ice, and tea.

"Oh dear," Miss Addy said, disjointedly, when she returned five minutes later, carrying a tray. "Sogoodofyou. Oh dear!"

Rose smiled. "I see some things never change." There was some relief in the thought. She gently wrapped a towel over the fingers, and applied the ice.

"Those boys!" Miss Addy sighed. "I'm sure I don't mean I don't love them dearly, but they turn into perfect hellions when they are bored! They were so much easier to manage at Tara. But dear Mrs. Butler refuses to take them back! You see – oh dear!- they set the stables on fire while she and Mr. Butler were in Atlanta. Mrs. Butler, she was not pleased, but Mrs. Benteen ….. Mrs. Benteen was _furious_!" Miss Addy's pale eyes conjured up an image of Suellen in her Wrath, and she shuddered.

"I can imagine," said Rose, evenly. She was not on intimate terms with any of her aunts. "Speaking of which - where _are_ my parents?"

"Oh my dear, they are out," Miss Addy reported, still somewhat out of breath. "Mr. Butler is at the office, and Mrs. Butler had an engagement at the Mellons'. She said to tell you to rest, and then be dressed for a dinner party they will be giving in honor of your return tonight."

Rose sighed. She had hoped to have a day to settle back in. And she had hoped her parents would be home to greet her. She lifted the towel cautiously, and nodded. Miss Addy's slender fingers were still red, but there was no swelling.

"Will you be all right now, Miss Addy? And where are the other two hellions?"

"In their room. They were all supposed to be reading their lessons!" Miss Addy still looked shaken, but roused herself enough to add, "and how nice to have you back, Miss Rose. You have been missed!"

Rose smiled politely, if disbelievingly. She poured out the tea into a small porcelain cup on the tray, added sugar, and encouraged the governess to drink. Then she excused herself, and walked down the hallway to greet her two youngest brothers. They were seated at their desks as advertised, but the books in front of them were unopened.

"Did it snap at her hand?" Dan asked, hopefully, in lieu of a greeting.

"Yes," she said, ruffling Dan's hair. He was a lanky twelve-year old now, and twisted his head away from her caress. "I'm too tired to give you an entire monologue on why that was a terrible prank, so you'll just have to imagine I said it."

Gerry grinned. He, too, had grown in the year since she had last seen them. Neither of them seemed overly concerned with her return.

She smiled wryly to herself. It was to be expected, after all… life couldn't be put on hold merely because she was gone. Or because she was back. But some small childish part of her wished it had been - that her family could have been frozen in time, like a picture in a frame, until she was ready to step into it again.

After pointing her brothers firmly to their lessons, she walked downstairs again, not quite ready to retire. She checked on the library, the drawing room, the formal dining room, the kitchen, as if re-familiarizing herself. The yellow dog under Rhett's desk lifted its head, but did not bark. She walked outside into the terrace, and passed through the rose garden and the orchard to the stable to greet Shadow. He neighed when he recognized her, scratching his hoof on the floor. She buried her head in his grey mane.

"Hello boy" she whispered. She didn't know why she suddenly felt like crying.

After she fed him an apple and promised to return soon, she walked back into the house. Her earlier fatigue had returned with interest. She noted some new decorations …. brilliant oil paintings, and Greek vases, and Parisian side-tables. Things her parents had brought from their travels in Europe, and shipped back home. They were lovely, but they added to her sense of estrangement. Why could things not remain the way she had left them?

She climbed up the stairs, much slower this time, and walked through the hallway once more, stopping at the place where she had stood with Thad the morning after the ball. It felt like a lifetime ago. The memory of his hand on her cheek flooded over her, and she chided herself a silly fool, that recalling such a brief touch could make her blush like a schoolgirl. And she remembered how he had looked at her, before she had made such a mess of things. Before it had all gone wrong.

_He returned from Houston only a few days after their last conversation at the Lake, infinitely more composed, and infinitely more remote. He had come into the kitchen while she was drinking tea at his large, round table. As soon as he entered, everything that was not he seemed to dim. To Rose's considerable dismay, her body appeared to have acquired as many eyes as a peacock's tail, all seeing nothing but him. Contrarily, he had looked at her blandly, and made an equally bland remark, and she had grown haughty in response, as was her way of being shy, and bewildered. Within the course of a few minutes, they had worked themselves up into a quarrel – a quarrel that Thad seemed to welcome, as if there were, after all, some unnamed emotions brewing under all that unnatural control. _

"_Good morning. Nice weather outside. If you're planning on riding by the Lake, now might be the time. It's set to heat up considerably later in the day."_

_She ignored his remark. "Cousin Thad," she said instead. "So kind of you to honor us with your company." She attempted a credible toss of the black curls, and a flash of the blue eyes. He was not to know that inside, she was a mass of quivering jelly. "We must really have irritated you, if you couldn't even stay for a week." _

"_I do have work to do, Rose. I can't spend all my time….."_

"_It's quite all right. Of course your business is more important than…..your family."_

"_Don't be such a child, Rose." He sounded annoyed now._

"_I thought you'd just recently let me know that I wasn't a child anymore."_

"_Then stop acting like one. You knew I have responsibilities outside of this Ranch."_

_She rose from the table. "Don't worry. I will take my irksome presence elsewhere." She had many such quaint phrases and mannerisms, that she had gotten from books, which would have made him smile under other circumstances._

"_Suit yourself."_

_They had parted in mutual frustration - frustration that hadn't quite dissipated by the time Scarlett took her children back to Galveston only two days later. Shortly afterwards, the Butlers had moved to South Carolina, and Rose had not seen him again until he showed up at her doorstep in Charleston that rainy evening in December of 1891._

Even now, looking back, she could not piece together the clues of that last encounter, as most women her age would have done with ease. Despite her vast experience with bodies, she still inhabited hers only imperfectly, and she could not connect his absence, or his irritation, to valid concern for their mutual safety. Like her father before her, she saw her formidable insight into others ending where love began. Now finding her contemplations too painful, she withdrew into the corners of her mind, where she then sat, perched like a bird with ruffled feathers, looking down on the world below.

Her bedroom was unchanged. She flung herself down on the dusky duvet cover, spreading her arms. For a brief moment, she felt like a girl again, protected and cherished in her parent's house. The fatigue had become overwhelming, and she gave in to the temptation to close her eyes. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

~~oo~~

"Rose!"

Scarlett burst into her daughter's bedroom, a vision in mauve _peau de soie_ and white ermine. "Darling! I'm so happy you're home!" She sank down on Rose's bed, enfolding her in a perfumed hug.

"Mother!" Rose laughed, untangling herself. She looked up at her critically, and pronounced: "You look well."

"Thank you, my love," Scarlett said, cheerfully. "Your father chose this dress for me. I've finally accepted I have no fashion sense, and since you were not here to help me …but how have _you_ been?" She eyed her daughter with an equally critical gaze. "You look a bit …thin."

Rose laughed, evading the question. "_You_ don't, for once, mother. The bit of extra weight looks wonderful. You're positively glowing."

Scarlett blushed, and as Rose lifted her eyebrows, she blushed even deeper. "I've done nothing but _eat_ for the last year!" her mother confessed. "I tell your father to stop feeding me, but he does nothing but insist I eat even more! I swear he is trying to turn me into a cow! Not to mention that he insists I go riding with him every day, so now my skin looks as black as Prissy's! Any day now I expect he will tie a white apron on me, and suggest I start cooking for the family!"

That description made her daughter grin, for there was little more than a faint sun-glow over the famed ivory skin. "I doubt Daddy would go that far," she teased. "He has a spoiled palate." Her mother huffed. "You should have seen yourself before," Rose added, somewhat more seriously. "You look _healthy_ now, mother. And …..happy. It warms the cockles of me old, burned-out heart. Speaking of which - where _is_ Daddy?"

"Downstairs," Scarlett said, distractedly. "In the library. Do you want to see him?"

"Yes." Rose stood up, and offered her mother her arm. She smiled at her, like a proud teacher at a student who had exceeded her expectations.

Arm in arm, they descended down the stairs. Rhett, who had been reading a paper in the library, looked up as they entered.

"Rose!" he said, with obvious pleasure.

He put down the Times, and stood up, taking her hands. Rose smiled at him, and gave him the same searching glance she had given her mother. "_You_ look much better too, Daddy," she pronounced finally, having taken in his tan, and his restored bulk. "As Night and Day, in fact, to when I last saw you."

He smiled. "Your mother has been hovering about me like a hen with one chick. Makes me eat more than I should, and insists I go riding with her every day. _Then_ she complains that I look as swarthy as a pirate." The glance they exchanged was at once conspiratorial, and slightly sheepish.

Rose collapsed in peals of laughter. Scarlett blushed again, an even deeper hue than before. Even Rhett looked slightly embarrassed. They looked at each other, and all three of them burst out laughing. Suddenly, it no longer felt strange to be home.

Rose grabbed her parents by the elbow. "Come. Tell me everything that happened while I was gone."

~~oo~~

"….and then, we ran into Mrs. Merriweather in the Lobby," Scarlett exclaimed. "Rhett insists she must have been laying in wait for four days to catch us, which I can't quite believe, but there she was, just as we came out!"

The formidable Matron, now in her late sixties, was apparently still as regal as ever.

"Your mother was as sweet as apple pie," Rhett added, grinning. "And repeated the performance with even more aplomb with the rest of the Old Guard, who all managed to run into us somehow, over the course of the two weeks we were there."

"Well, the flood helped," Scarlett said, disjointedly. "Whenever people started to get on my nerves, I would mention the flood, and they would become all sympathetic, and back off! And I admit, they got on my nerves frequently! Though I'd much rather _not_ have lived through it, and used something else to get rid of them. However, a good many people asked us to dinner, including the Picards, who have about twelve children now, and too many grandchildren to count. And then we went back to Tara ….and those dratted boys had just lit the stable on fire. I thought Suellen would succumb to apoplexy. Even though Will just laughed."

"You didn't yet tell me why it took _four days _for you to get down the lobby," Rose teased.

"Well…." Scarlett dodged, helplessly looking at Rhett.

"Your mother was very tired," her husband announced, helpfully. "She needed a lot of ….rest."

"Certainly," said Rose, arching her eyebrows in disbelief. "One does need a lot of ...rest on vacation."

Scarlett giggled, as if she were no more than Rose's age.

Rose rolled her eyes. "It's nice to know some things never change." But she smiled a cheeky benediction.

~~oo~~

At shortly after six, the guests began pouring in for dinner.

"Wade!" Rose squealed, throwing herself at her brother, who had just finished assisting his wife out of her overcoat. He grabbed Rose for a hug, and swung her around.

"Dr. Rose! Congrats, little one. I heard you did well on the Finals. We've missed you."

She laughed. "Yes, Finals went well. And the University of Glasgow is taking over the College …just think, Wade, if I'd gone in a year later I could have been the University's first female medical graduate!"

"History missed out," he agreed, looking at her fondly. "You look a bit thin, little Sis. Don't they have food in Scotland?"

"Don't ask," she said, and they all laughed. She smiled at Phoebe. "Where are the little ones?"

"Home with the nanny," Phoebe replied, cheerfully, and with habitual tact. 'I figured you'd have enough commotion tonight without them in the mix! I'll be happy to bring them by tomorrow afternoon. They've missed you."

"I bet I'll hardly recognize them." A faint echo of regret had returned to her voice. She was distracted by the arrival of Ella and Chase, as well as her aunt's family.

The sisters greeted each other heartily, and with pleasure.

"I hear you're in your own house, now," Rose said.

"Yes," said Chase, firmly, putting an arm around his wife, and casting a glance at his mother's back. Rose's gaze returned to him several times. His face was still the same, but his altered mannerisms aged him at least a decade. "I had to get Ella out of that household. I couldn't listen to the way mother talked to her anymore."

"And even mother has to admit they are coping much better than she expected," his sister added. She, too, seemed altered. She wore a light blue dress Rose had approved of years ago, and her hair was braided into becoming sea-shells.

"I'm glad," Rose said, sincerely. A look passed between Chase, Charlotte and herself, and swept across the room to include Cherry, who was dressed in a white apron, serving drinks. They did not know it, but a similar bond had built between them as the one that had united Wade, Thad and James ...forged like hot iron from the memories of a terrible day.

Rosemary, who had discussed things of import with Scarlett, now turned to her niece. Her all-encompassing glance swept over the simple grey velvet dress, and the girl's elegant form. At eighteen, Rose had Scarlett's well-rounded figure, and tiny waist. Not quite matching her mother in height, she still evoked the delicate fragility of a porcelain doll. Her style of dress remained flawless: rubies gave color and interest to her monochromatic ensemble, and a light red silk scarf cast casually over the slim shoulders added playfulness. Her aunt nodded, apparently satisfied. "You have been doing well for yourself, Rose. I am _sure_ you are happy to be back among civilized people." Without waiting for a reply, she continued, "I hope you will now settle down, and get married. Of course, you can't expect a brilliant match anymore, what with being_ educated_, not to mention breaking off an engagement - but you are still _quite pretty_, so we should be able to find you someone appropriate without too much trouble."

Rose smiled thinly. "I've been accepted by Anna Broomall at the Women's Medical College of Philadelphia in September. I plan to specialize in Obstetrics and Gynecology, and they have an excellent outpatient maternity program. I'll be working with students, and furthering my own training at the same time."

"Dear God! You don't mean that you actually plan to _work_?" asked her aunt, horrified.

Rose started to look mulish, and it was fortunate that the arrival of further guests interrupted the conversation. Uncle Henry, an impossibly sprightly nonagenarian, walked in at the arm of his wife Emma. He pinched Rose's cheeks, and told her that the beaux would be on her door-step by tomorrow morning, and that his walking-stick was at her disposal. He did not quite seem to hear her reply, but nodded enthusiastically to whatever she told him. Even Charles Butler, who had become even more taciturn over the years, greeted her cordially. She looked around. Despite her relations' various short-comings, she was happy to be home.

Dinner passed cheerfully, stories of Scotland and medical school mixed with tales of her parents' European travels, minus the flood. Dan and Gerry talked avidly, and Perry contributed tales of his time in Texas. Had anyone been watching, they could have seen Rose flush whenever Thad's name was mentioned.

As it turned out, someone had.

~~oo~~

After dinner, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, an unexpected conversation took place.

Rose was standing by the piano, lost in thought. Her absentminded fingers ran over the instrument, without calling forth a sound.

"Rose."

She looked up. To her surprise, her uncle was standing next to her. "Uncle Charles?" She could not, for the life of her, imagine what he would have to say. He had always been one to chose silence over talking, unless it was about hunting, or hounds.

He seemed hesitant, but plunged ahead. "Been watching you," he announced, briefly. "Thinking you and I might help each other out."

Her blue eyes were all astonishment. "How so, Uncle Charles?"

"Been thinking about that boy," he said, vaguely. Rose's expression snapped closed immediately, but Charles Butler was staring at his shoes, and did not see it. "In fact, been thinking about him for the last two years. Ever since he left. Told me what he thought of me, he did." He brushed an imaginary crumb off his sleeve, his face still turned downward. "Was mad as a hornet at first, but he was right. About a lot of things. I'd like to see him again. See if we can, perhaps….."

"That's between you and Thad, Uncle Charles. I fail to see how_ I_ can be of use."

He glanced at her shrewdly. "Something tells me _you_ been thinking about him too. Maybe even more'n me."

Shock battled with surprise in her face, and he almost smiled. "Saw right away you were sweet on 'im, and he on you." He winked at her, and added, "thought we might go to see him together. Thought, in fact, we might all go. Like I said, help each other out." He saw her expression freeze again, and he petted her shoulder encouragingly. "You think about it. Got a bit of time, I understand, before you're off to the North. Might as well use it."

As he turned to rejoin the others, she thought he mumbled, "wouldn't mind seeing his mother again either."

Perhaps it had been merely her imagination, she thought later. Perhaps not.


	24. The Mind of God

_As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, and for the kind words. JS - yes, I am a physician. And yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I promise! Happy studying! _

* * *

"_He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been stuck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete."_

_-F. Scott Fitzgerald, "The Great Gatsby"_

The sound of carriage wheels, and only minutes later, the screeching of children, drew Belle Watling to the large parlor windows that faced the front of the Ranch. Her hands flew to her coiffure, and then dropped, as she caught herself.

Perry, Dan and Gerry had already tumbled out of the first carriage, followed much more sedately by their parents, and Rose. From a second carriage emerged Ella, with a man who was presumably her husband, and a blonde young woman of similar age. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, a man that Belle hadn't seen in almost four decades, but recognized at once.

Charles Butler was almost as tall as his elder brother, and their features and build were similar enough that they had oft been mistaken for twins. His carriage wasn't quite as erect, and his views much more conventional - although his tastes, and his habits, had not always been as conservative as his philosophy. Which had been Belle's downfall.

_The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, _she thought, with some acidity. She had never been religious, but Thad now dragged her to the Anglican services on Sundays, and she had to admit there was some comfort in the half-darkness of the church, and the ancient incantations that spoke of pain, and failure, and the ultimate triumph of the soul. _The flesh is weak. _A near-universal human truth her entire business model had relied on. It had certainly been true of Charles Butler. And herself.

"_Charles….I'm expectin"_

She still could conjure up the echoes of those words, spoken almost a life-time ago. She had been nineteen …. The daughter of a laborer on his father's plantation. Strawberry red hair, milky skin, and freckles. Not to mention an ample figure. He had been twenty-six. They had met that one languid summer that he had been away from the city, working on expanding the rice-fields. She had instantly fallen in love. He had instantly fallen in lust.

_His face had changed almost immediately after she'd spoken. Become hard, and cold. She knew, without being told, that she was on her own._

_She didn't know what she had expected. She did know that she had not expected…. this._

She had been shocked when she had learned he would come. Here. After all this time.

"_Mother ….I just had a letter from Rhett," Thad had told her two weeks ago, when she'd come into the kitchen._

_She had not been surprised, yet. He and Rhett had been corresponding for years, now, and apparently settled their differences. "And?"_

"_They would like to visit."_

"_How nice," she merely said, and meant it. She hadn't seen Scarlett since the day she had dropped off Perry, and would enjoy having her stay. She had missed having the boy around, as well. Perhaps because she had missed out on so much of Thad's own youth. _

"_You don't yet know who else is coming," he had said, with a strange smile._

She knew she had to move, but remained rooted in place by her spinning thoughts. Charles Butler had disappeared from her life, but then…. there had been Rhett. Rhett had been different. He'd been an outcast from polite society himself, who had somehow heard about her fate, and offered assistance. Eventually, after Thad's birth, he had offered ….more. After the defection of Charles, his attentions had been a welcome change, for Rhett took what he wanted – without, as he'd say,_ wrestling with angels or demons_.

Until, he, too, had bowed his head before a God of his own making. And she had once again been left behind.

She watched the men help the servants unload the trunks off the roof of the carriages, and propelled her heavy limbs forward to greet them. Thad was still out riding with the men, and she cast a brief, worried glance at the young woman in the grey travelling dress who stood as still as a statue beside her parents. Belle was not deceived by her beauty, or her elegance, or her demeanor. Had Rose been born a different sort of a girl, and applied for a work at her former bawdy house in Atlanta, Belle would not have hired her. Her customers would have lost all their ardor when faced with those eyes. Uncanny – that was the word for _that one_.

"Belle. How kind of you to put up our entire horde." Scarlett, who looked ravishing despite days of travelling, walked towards her with outstretched hands. Belle took them, and a look of genuine warmth passed between the two women. They had both suffered at the hands of the Butler men, and had both come out ahead in the end. Scarlett in a happy marriage, and Belle with a son able to support her in her old age.

"You look wonderful," Belle said candidly, but without envy. She was, perhaps, ten years older than Scarlett, but knew she looked twenty.

"Thank you." There was not even a hint of cattiness in Scarlett's tone. She cast a fond glance at Rhett, which he returned in full measure. Her smile, and her face, were positively glowing.

Belle stared at her. She didn't remember her being quite_ this _happy_. Good for 'er,_ she thought. _Some of us should be happy._

She greeted Rhett and Ella, and allowed herself to be introduced to Chase, and Charlotte. Rose, who had been standing a little to the side, stepped forward as well.

Belle was unable to completely hide the dislike in her expression when she acknowledged her. She knew without being told that Rose was behind this unexpected expedition, and she wasn't certain enough of her son's indifference to believe him completely beyond danger of being ensnared once more in her web.

"Miss Rose."

Rose gave a thin smile, and briefly, they glowered at each other.

Charles Butler, who had walked once around the circle to crane his neck at the stables and the pastures and the buildings in view, rejoined the group.

"Miss Watling," he said, with some embarrassment, but without artifice.

"Mr. Butler." She felt shy before him, suddenly, and wished she had taken the time to put on make-up, or dyed her hair. She sighed, irritated with herself. She was a respectable woman now, and had been for over a decade. _No thanks to 'im._

She roused herself. "Please, everyone, follow me. You'll wanna settle in, and freshen up before supper."

She led them into the house. The guest quarters were in the East wing, far way from Thad's room, or her own, but to be safe she gave Rose the room at the very end of the corridor.

Then she left to oversee the preparation of supper.

~~oo~~

Thad entered the dining room after everyone had already assembled for supper. He wore a black suit jacket and a white shirt, which accentuated his light skin, and his dark hair. At thirty-six, he was a carbon copy of the two older men in the room, minus the skin tone, which was his one outward nod to his mother's heritage.

He greeted Scarlett with his usual affection, and then shocked almost everyone, especially Rose, by hugging Rhett warmly, and firmly.

"Had to bring the entire harem, didn't you, Uncle Rhett", he teased, a wide smile on his face that Rose had never seen before. "I suppose old Pirates really never die."

Rhett smirked back at him. "_Jealousy_ is such a wasteful emotion, my lad. You'd be much better served trying to acquire your own. Not that anyone would have you."

"You have me there, Uncle Rhett. And I can't even argue _quality over quantity_, because Scarlett here looks as fetching as something that stepped out of a fancy magazine. One wouldn't imagine it, living with the likes of _you_." They grinned at each other.

From the back of the room, Rose blinked at them, owl-like. What else had happened in the last two years that she didn't know about?

Thad then greeted Charles Butler briefly, but politely, albeit without any noticeable enthusiasm. Charles had reverted to his usual reserve, and did not try to put himself forward. She watched Thad run the gamut of her remaining relations, and finally, stop before her. When their eyes met, her breath stopped.

"Dr. Butler." He smiled a half-smile that wasn't exactly mocking, or derogatory, but failed to reach his eyes. He gave her a searching stare, as if looking for something in her eyes. In the back of her neck, she could feel Belle's gaze on them. In fact, she felt sure everyone in the room was watching them, including those that pretended not to. She put up her little chin in defiance.

"Cousin Thad." She would not let him see just how much she was shaking internally. Would not let any of them see. _Pride_ was the most damning legacy she carried from both parents, along with her father's perfectly composed, perfectly unreadable mien.

Whatever it was he had been searching for in her face, he had not found it. His expression became hard. "Yes. We are ….cousins, are we not," he said, now with a full-grown smirk, and a side glance at his natural father. "One forgets these things. Especially if one doesn't _see _one's …dearest relations. Or hear from them. _In over two years."_

Rose found herself wishing for Wade, or Phoebe …someone with natural tact, that could have stepped in, and defused the situation. She caught her father's eye, but he merely smiled reassuringly at her.

"I …." There was nothing she could think of to say. No excuse she could make, that he would accept, or understand. Not without making a thorough fool of herself. She _wouldn't._

When she proved unable to formulate an answer, Thad's expression hardened further. "I understand. Perfectly. As you've said yourself - sometimes business takes precedence over….family."

He turned with his effortless grace, and released her. Rhett stepped beside him, and murmured something she couldn't hear. She felt tears pricking her eyes, and turned her head, afraid they would spill over her cheeks. She wished, as fiercely as Rhett had over many a miserable year, that _love had spared her. _Who in their right mind would chose to be this miserable?

But Thad _had_ changed, she realized belatedly. There was an ease in his manner with the others, that seemed to have grown from whatever had happened between her father and himself …..something that eluded her, but was as palpable as his previous derision had been. Watching him joke back and forth with Rhett and Scarlett, with the boys, and even Charlotte and Chase, threw his much more formal manners to herself, and Charles Butler, into painful focus. She wished she could shrink into her chair, and disappear.

Belle also scowled at her, whenever she was forced to look her way. Rose felt more miserable by the minute.

"Eat, Rose," her mother encouraged her. While the subtleties of the back-and-forth eluded her, she saw quite well that her daughter was barely touching her food.

"I'm sorry,' she mumbled, forcing herself to swallow a few bites. "I'm rather tired."

Perry, who was thrilled to be back West, had engaged Thad in a conversation about all the goings-on at the Ranch while he had been gone.

"What about Stripes?" he asked, remembering his piglet. "You promised to look after him while I was gone." A horrifying thought struck him. "You _didn't_….."

"Stripes?" Thad said, pretending to think. "Ah! Yes. You mean that delicious ham we had for supper last Sunday …"

"Cousin Thad!" Perry yelled, aghast.

Thad winked at him. "Relax, Perry. I moved him out of the carriage house into the stable. He now resides next to my horse, and has turned into a disgustingly huge hog. I suspect he wants to _look_ like horse, too, not just live like one."

"_Thank_ you," Perry said, reverently, with a sigh of relief. "I can't _wait_ to see him. I hope he remembers me!" He turned to the other boys. "And tomorrow, we can all ride on the ponies! It'll be so much fun!"

"As long as you don't burn down my stables. You know the rules." Seeing Dan and Gerry eying him curiously, he added, "feel free to remind your brothers, as well."

"One week of mucking stables for every major offense", Perry cited, glumly, perhaps remembering the miserable week of aching muscles and joints after he had released most of the pigs, and been assigned to one of the stable boys. "Plus one month without riding for anything that's really dangerous." That rule, thankfully, had not needed to be invoked.

"Exactly."

"I may just leave them here with you," Scarlett said, shaking her head at the small, attentive faces. "Charleston just isn't big enough for them anymore! If it ever was," she added, with a sigh. Miss Addy nodded her head in full agreement. She held up her hand, as if an imaginary mouse-trap were attached to it.

"I never quite understood what you were doing there in the first place," Thad shrugged. "Come back to Texas. Rhett can work from anywhere, and the boys will do much better if they have regular exercise. I'd be happy to have them over anytime. And put them to work. "

"Believe me, I have thought about it," Scarlett said. Rhett shot her a look of surprise, but didn't comment. "The only thing keeping me in Charleston is …Wade and his family."

"Bring them, too. Wade enjoyed living here, and _I'd_ enjoy having him close by."

"We will…..all have to talk about it more." Scarlett said, not adding that their living situation would greatly depend on what did, or did not, happen between himself and her daughter.

After supper, they went into the drawing-room. Thad, who neither drank nor smoked, still kept a selection of excellent Scotch and Cuban Cigars for his guests. The other three men partook appreciatively of the offerings, especially Charles, whose satisfaction with his base-born son's accomplishments was growing with each sip, and deep puff.

Charlotte made an effort to engage Rose and Thad in a mutual conversation. Unfortunately, she had retained her talent for making difficult situations worse, despite the best of intentions.

"Rose tells me you spend time in Houston, as well," she said. "Do tell me more about that."

"I run most of my business ventures out of Houston," he replied amiably. "The Ranch makes a small profit, but it is mainly a hobby of mine."

"I can see why," she smiled. "Rose spoke so highly of the place."

"Did she," he said, blandly. His dark eyes sought Roses', and held them.

In addition to making one miserable, love also makes one tongue-tied, Rose found. She could think of nothing to say.

Charlotte, who had hoped Rose would pitch in, felt her own cheeks stain red. "Yes," she said brightly. "Every time we were together, she would mention it! She really loves being here."

Thad looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. His searching gaze swept over her face, dipping into her pale, blue eyes, and he suddenly smiled – a full, warm smile, and unconsciously sensual. "You're a very good friend," he said, softly. Charlotte was thrown into a sea of confusion. No man like that had ever paid her any sort of attention. Of course, he was only a …..but it was hard to remember just _what_ he was, when he looked at her like that. And spoke to her. Like others before her, she suddenly realized his voice was his most seductive feature. Like Rhett, he was simply too …_male_ for comfort. But Rose….she blushed even more deeply, and cast down her eyes.

Rose had been staring at them with an expression of shock. She turned around. "Excuse me," she said, blindly. She turned to Belle. "I'm sorry. I'm very tired. I will retire to my room."

Ignoring Scarlett's voice calling after her, she almost ran out of the room. She could almost _hear_ Belle's thoughts…...hear her pleasure that the first meeting between her son and the girl she disliked had gone so poorly. But she couldn't stand for another moment, and watch him pay attention to every woman but her. And Charlotte…..

Once she had found her room, sat down on her bed, and taken a big breath, she tried to reason with herself. Charlotte had merely tried to be helpful. It was not her fault.

She heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in," she said, wearily. Why couldn't people leave her alone? Why had she let Charles, and her parents, persuade her to come?

Scarlett entered before Rose could finish diagnosing herself with an inherent, incurable masochistic streak. Seeing her daughter's expression, she swiftly sat down beside her on the large bed. "Rose. Love. What is it?"

Rose remained silent.

"My dear, throwing temper tantrums has never attracted any man," Scarlett told her, firmly. "What's needed here is a little gumption!"

Despite herself, Rose laughed. "And how does one go about displaying….gumption?"

"I'm surprised at you," Scarlett said, shaking her head at her youngest daughter. "You've had beaux proposing to you since you were about thirteen! I would have thought you _knew_ how to catch them!"

"But I never _did _anything," said Rose, despondently. "When one…..has the sort of good looks she…..I mean, that _I_ have, men take their dreams, and dress them up with your face. And then they propose, because they don't know any better. It doesn't _mean _anything. That's why I ….you see, Thad …."

Such distinctions were far above Scarlett's ability to abstract. "I have no idea what you are talking about, love," she said, merrily. "But I _do_ know that this is not the way to go about it! Next time you see him, ask him about _himself_. Then, once he is talking, slowly direct the conversation back to _you." _She eyed Rose, critically. "Then, once you have his attention, flutter your lashes, and cast them down. Like _this_." She demonstrated her technique very credibly. "And then, peep up again, and look at his lips. Then take care to _blush_, and flutter your lashes again. See?"

Rose sputtered with sudden glee. "Mother! I now see _clearly_ why Daddy stood no chance against you." It was true – Scarlett's display was entirely captivating. Not because of her methods - they were, in fact, laughably crude - but because of the deeper things which lay behind them. The fierce _joie de vivre_, her inherent sensuality, and her innocent pleasure in herself.

"Now you're smiling again," Scarlett said, approvingly. "Smile, and do what I just told you, and you'll have him eating out of your hand in no time! Remember, men like a girl with a happy temper much better than a morose fish!"

With those encouraging, but enigmatic words, her mother left the room, and her daughter to her thoughts.

~~oo~~

Some time later, after silence had fallen on the Ranch, Rose stepped outside. The half-moon cast a gentle light over the world, and the bright Western stars glittered above her. She walked slowly, and, closing her eyes for a brief moment, turned the corner to the back of the stables, where she had sat with Thad so many times in years gone by.

When she opened them, she almost staggered with disappointment. She had hoped against hope that he would be waiting for her. That he wanted to talk to her, as much as she wanted to talk to him. She moved forward slowly, and, gliding down, sat in her usual spot, staring into the gentle, moon-lit darkness. She waited for over an hour, but he did not come.

Finally, stiff with cold and disappointment, she rose, and walked slowly back into the house.


	25. Dust

_Thank you once more for your kind words. Thad: from his perspective, he offered her his heart on a platter, which she repaid by dumping him, accepting another man's proposal a day after he left, and not writing to him in over two years. Thad is unlikely to hand over his heart again, without some effort on her part. Rose ….yes, you are all quite right, Rose needs to find her gumption. But be careful of what you wish for! We (and Thad) may get more than we bargained for. :)_

* * *

It was eight o'clock when Rose came into the kitchen. The brightly-lit room was empty except for Thad, dressed in riding garb, handling a tea-pot with its assorted utensils.

When she saw him, she thought he looked as if he had, after all, slept no better than she. Her heart gave a tiny flutter of hope.

He looked up when she entered. "Good morning," she said, softly.

His gaze swept over her face, taking in her pallor, and the bluish shadows under her eyes.

"Good morning," he said. She wanted to wrap herself in his voice like a blanket. "Tea?" Tea was something he was particular about, and always prepared himself. She watched as he ran the amber liquid through a sieve, to catch out any remaining leaves.

"Yes. Thank you."

He poured her a cup, and handed it to her, along with cream and sugar. Again, a miniscule flutter of elation, that he remembered how she took it. _Stop it, _she told herself severely._ He's offered you tea. Not asked you to marry him._

She added cream, and sugar, and slowly stirred her cup. Strangely enough, the silence between them was not uncomfortable. He sat down across from her at the large table, drinking his own beverage slowly.

"Where is everyone?" she finally asked.

"Your father and ….mine, have gone with Chase and the boys for a walk around the Ranch." Something like amusement briefly flickered in his eyes. "Perry appointed himself head tour-guide, so I'm not sure they will ever be back. Scarlett, Ella, and Charlotte are still sleeping. And I ….. am here."

She gave a faint smile in return. "Are you now."

"Yes. Shocking, I know. Perhaps, if I apply myself sufficiently, I can shock you even further." He twisted his lips into a smirk. "What are your plans for today?"

Her heart-beat accelerated to the point where she was afraid she would faint. _Pull yourself together. Any simpering school-girl would put on a better show than you._

"I haven't made any yet," she answered, with what she hoped was perfect nonchalance. "Why ….why do you ask?" She hoped he hadn't noticed her slight stammer.

He gave her another one of his searching glances. "I was thinking of taking you down to the Reservation. There is a young woman - the wife of one of my men - whom their Healer is concerned about."

Her hopes, which had cautiously groped up a small hill or two, now plunged to new depth. "Oh," she said. Then she roused herself, and the love-sick school-girl was thrust firmly aside. Only the doctor remained. "What symptoms is he seeing?"

"She is expecting a baby in a few months. He says she has been …spotting blood."

Rose would have smiled at just how much he knew about the gynecological concerns of a Native girl. Thad had always been well informed about his men, and their dependents. In addition, she knew he employed quite a few men from the Reservation at his Ranch, to the displeasure of some of his other workers, and to the mockery of the surrounding towns.

Years ago, when she was still feeling brave, she had asked him about it.

_"Why do you hire them, if the others get so mad at you?_'

"_Here's a secret about life, Rose," he had replied, grinning at her. "If you pay well, and genuinely seem to care about whatever principle it is you're espousing, you will be able to get away with much that you couldn't get away with otherwise."_

"_And what is …your principle?"_

"_That all people are created equal," he said. "It is my one, genuine weakness. Always cultivate a weakness or two, Rosey," he'd added, pulling her curl. "Makes you seem human. People can say, "oh, poor Thad Watling. Has all these funny ideas in his head. But he pays good money, and he means well. And after all, what can we expect, seeing where he's from?" _

_He winked at her, and she laughed. "Intriguing theory, Cousin Thad. How did you come to adopt it?"_

_He smiled widely, and she was too young to catch the hint of bitterness hidden within. "Initially, it was entirely for my own benefit. After all, I had to find a way to assure myself I was as good, if not better, than your noble lot." He'd winked at her again. "Also, I grew up….amongst a lot of different races in New Orleans. If you get to know people, Rosey – really know them- it becomes hard, if not impossible, to see them as less then yourself, merely because their skin has a different shade."_

_For a brief moment, the shadow of the girl he had loved, and lost, stood between them. She wondered if he had ever loved anyone like that again. Or if he ever would. Then she had asked herself why it mattered._

"_I understand," she said, softly._

"_Yes. I know you do."_

_He'd adroitly turned the discussion to "The Origin of Species", which he had given her to read last week, but the subject had remained on her mind for some time._

"Spotting late in the pregnancy?" she now repeated. "That _is_ concerning, especially if she is close to her delivery. Has anyone besides the …Healer looked at her?" She did not want to say, _a real doctor_, as she did not know how defensive he would be regarding the traditional healer, or indeed how qualified that person was.

"I haven't been able to find a white doctor willing to examine her," Thad said, and his voice turned cold. "At least not one worth having."

Rose sighed. It was unfortunate, but she could well believe it. Not too many of her profession with a reputation to lose would be willing to treat an Indian woman. "I see," she said, evenly. "Of course I will be happy to look at her. Fortunately, I brought my instrument bag along in my luggage just in case. " She looked at him again, this time more thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"Prepare yourself to hear that I won't be able to do much. There are a couple of things that can cause spotting in the second or third trimester, and not many of them are good. She may need a Cesarean section, which is something I've never performed without supervision, and would never dare to try in anything other than a hospital setting. The risk is just too great."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said. "If you'll change, I'll have the horses ready in half an hour." At her questioning glance, he added, guessing her thoughts, "I have a filly for you that I think will answer our purpose. She isn't a _Paso_, but she's superbly trained, and very smart, and gentle. I've had her with me at the shooting range, and she never twitched, even when three guns went off next to her head simultaneously."

She appeared satisfied. "I'm not afraid, particularly …but you know how Daddy is about us, and horses."

"Understandable, given what happened."

She merely nodded, and turned to go back to her room. Despite herself, she couldn't contain the renewed flutter of elation in her chest at the thought of going riding with him. _Be sensible, _she chided herself. _He merely wants my medical expertise. He isn't asking me to come because he wants to spend time with me._

~~oo~~

As she walked back towards her room, she almost bumped into a very sleepy Charlotte.

"Sorry," Rose mumbled, her mind elsewhere.

"Oh!" said Charlotte, somewhat disconcerted. "Can I talk to you, Rose?"

"Of course. I'm changing to go riding. Come along, and we'll talk."

Charlotte followed Rose into her room, sat down on her bed, and watched as she changed. "I wanted to say….about last night …."

"Don't refine upon it," Rose said, with feigned lightness. "I know you were only trying to help."

"He _flustered _me," Charlotte said, darkly. "Don't think I'm in love with him, because I'm not! A man like that is too much ….of _everything_ for the likes of me to handle. But when he looked at me like that, I…" she stopped, aware that she was most likely making a bad situation worse once again.

To her relief, Rose only laughed. "Dear Charlotte. You're not the first woman Thad has …_flustered_. And you'll probably not be the last," she added, almost to herself.

"Are we ok though?" Charlotte said, worriedly. "Not that I would dream I could set myself up as a rival to _you_, but I'd be mortified if you thought I'd even _try_ such a thing!"

"I would never think that of you," Rose said swiftly, hugging her cousin. "Don't worry about it."

She had finished putting her Turkish trousers over the leather riding breeches, and was now pulling a black riding jacket over a white shirt with a ruffled, v-neck collar.

"You should wear your other jacket," Charlotte giggled, much more at ease now that she had said her piece, and been forgiven. "The one that accentuates your figure so well. _That_ would make his eyes pop out of his head!"

"Hah," said Rose. "And remind him of the Wilkes, and everything else that happened that day? I rather think not."

"He wouldn't be_ reminded_ if you wore that. He wouldn't have a mind _left_ to be reminded with," said Charlotte. The two girls collapsed on the bed in helpless giggles. It felt good to mock love, and men, and the gravity of things.

~~oo~~

On her way out, Rose passed Belle Watling in the parlor.

"Mornin'," Belle said, somewhat coolly, eyeing her attire. Rose found herself wishing that she had put on the other jacket, after all. Just because. "Where're you off to?" It came out sounding more like an interrogation than friendly curiosity.

"Going riding with Thad," Rose said, without expanding on the reason. It felt absurdly good to worry that glowering woman, who seemed to think of her as a serpent Thad had failed to crush beneath his boot. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to let my parents know, when they ask for me. I'm not sure when we'll be back."

_There,_ she thought, with satisfaction, as a flash of real fear crossed Belle's face. Then she sobered. _If only his mother really had some cause for concern. _

~~oo~~

Thad was waiting for her in front of the Ranch, flanked by his grey gelding, and a small white mare. He took her instrument case from her, and placed it in his left saddlebag.

Rose scanned the mare quickly, noting how quietly she stood, only occasionally swatting for flies. She was lightweight and dainty, standing at little more than fourteen hands, with an arched neck, and a high-set, plumaged tail. She wore Western tack, which was somewhat distinct from the English riding tack favored in Charleston; with a high saddle 'horn' used for tying ropes, and a deeper seat.

"Pretty," Rose said, meaning the horse. She measured the length of the stirrups against her underarms, and adjusted both sides to fit her. "Interesting head." The horse's nose curved inwards, then outwards again at an unusually sharp angle.

"She's part Arabian," he said, briefly, watching her until she finished. "Related to the _Godolphin Arabian_, if that means anything to you. Like I said, very smart - and very gentle. Leg up?"

She nodded, grabbed the pummel of the saddle, and flexed her left leg at the knee. He took hold of it, and boosted her into the saddle. For the fraction of a second, his hand seemed to linger on her leg.

"She's trained Western Style. I hope you haven't forgotten."

She threw him a _look_, grabbed the rains with one hand, and nudged the horse forward, taking her through her paces. Like any well-trained Western horse, the mare changed direction with nothing more than a light pressure of the reins against her neck.

Seconds later, he, too, was astride, and followed her. For fifteen minutes, they merely rode without speaking, and Rose allowed herself to pretend it was five years ago, and they were simply taking a ride by the Lake in fine weather. Before everything had become so complicated.

He trailed her for a period of time, most likely to evaluate both the horse, and her own prowess- before letting the grey gelding fall in step beside her. His own mount was a very large American Saddlebred, which made him tower above her even more than usual.

"You're too high up. I'll sprain my neck," she said, with an attempt to infuse humor.

He looked at her through disconcerting, half-lowered lids. "Only if you want to look at me."

No, Charlotte was certainly _not_ the last woman he would fluster, she told herself, angry that once more she could think of nothing to say.

They rode through the gentle hills and densening trees, before descending into a dusty valley, and the first houses of the small town. The horses trotted side-by-side down Main Street, which was only moderately filled with people. Another ten minutes later, they had already left the last houses behind them.

"Not Charleston, is it," he grinned.

"No," she agreed, softly. "But I can't tell you how happy I am to be home."

"What exactly _is_ home?" he asked, idly. "Texas? The West? My Ranch?'

_Wherever you are,_ thought Rose_._ Aloud she said, "All of it."

"I've always found Charleston to be very suffocating," he agreed, amiably.

"Always?" she asked. "Where you there more than once?"

He gave her an odd look, almost as if she had caught him out. "I do business in a lot of places, Rose."

She accepted the explanation without comment.

Around the bend, the first run-down shacks of the Reservation came into view. It was a sobering sight. A few men greeted them, as they passed by the wooden shacks that made up most of the dwellings, and stables. A few people kept poultry, and pigs.

Eventually, Thad pulled up beside a log cabin under a group of pine trees. He slung ropes over the necks of the horses, tying them to a post by the door. He retrieved her instrument set from his saddle bag, setting it down. Then, he turned to Rose, holding out his hands.

She hesitated. Then, swinging her right leg over the saddle, she slid down, allowing him to catch her waist, and break her descent. She stared up at him. His hands were still encircling her waist.

"Thad…"

He hadn't stirred, or removed his hands from her waist. He smelled like leather, and sweat, and horses.

She let her gaze drop, her nerves failing her in face of this unexpected proximity. "Where ….where is the patient?"

His hands dropped to his side, and he took a step back. "This way." He ducked under a narrow entrance way.

In the half-darkness, on a series of overlapping carpets, sat a young woman, clearly in the later stages of pregnancy. Rose estimated her to be no older than herself. Beside her stood an older man, presumably her husband, and a much younger one, whom Thad introduced as the Tribes' Healer. A lad of perhaps sixteen.

At her raised brows, Thad added, "he was the acolyte, until his teacher was taken by the influenza, only a few months ago."

Rose grimaced, and nodded. She watched Thad speak softly in a language she had heard many times in the past, but could not understand. The girl's dark eyes lifted, and then fell. Rose asked for boiling water, which was already cooking on the hearth.

"She will need to lay down," Rose said, gently, so as not to startle her. "And I will need an interpreter. Preferably a woman."

"I'm afraid I'm it," Thad said. "And her husband will be less than thrilled if I stay while you examine her." Indeed, the other man, who seemed to have some understanding of English, had started to scowl.

"You can stand in the doorway with your back turned to us," Rose said, reasonably. "He can stand beside you, to make sure her modesty is preserved. At any rate, her skirts will do that quite nicely."

The girl allowed herself to be led into the small, adjourning bedroom, and lay down on her cot. Rose unpacked her instruments, creating a rough theatre from white cloth. She had brought, amongst other things, a modified Sims speculum, and a stethoscope, although most of her information would be gained from the history.

Fifteen minutes later, she was done. She had the woman dress herself, and, after re-sterilizing her instruments, bade Thad to translate a series of questions regarding the start, amount, frequency and length of the bleeding.

"What do you think?" he asked, after they had finished.

Rose looked at the girl. "Does she …want to know what is going on?" she asked.

"Not if it's bad news," Thad said. "Delivering bad news is to a patient is considered a direct injury to the spirits. Which would worsen her condition." She nodded, and gestured him outside. The young Healer followed. He had, by this time, risen higher in Rose's esteem. During the physical exam, he had stayed out of her way entirely, and not tried to use this opportunity to jockey for position, or turn the young girl's condition into a battle of strength - as many of her own colleagues would have done.

"I'm afraid my news isn't good. I believe her placenta has grown over the opening of the uterus. What we call a _placenta previa_. Unusual in a primigravida, especially one so young, and as far as I can tell she isn't expecting multiples. But strange things do happen in medicine."

"What does that mean for her?"

"If I'm right – and I think I am - she is unlikely to survive a vaginal delivery. She needs a Cesarean section. And I can't do one here."

"What do you recommend?"

"That she be taken to Houston. Where the operation can be performed by a trained surgeon, under anesthesia, and sterile conditions. There are now surgical techniques – like the transverse incision to minimize bleeding, and uterine suturing –that will greatly increase her odds of survival." She sighed. "If it were a year from now ….after I've had some training at the Women's College in Philadelphia…."

Thad threw her an odd look. "Is that where you're planning on going next?"

She flushed, and nodded. "Yes." _  
_

He seemed lost in thought. "It will be difficult to move her. Even more difficult to find a hospital that will accept someone like her as a patient. The _Jim Crow_ laws mean business, even in this State."

She cast him a worried look. "I know. Daddy gets around them when we travel by buying all of our servants First Class tickets. They don't make segregated railway cars for First Class, so they _have_ to allow them to stay with us. But for a hospital …...what can we do?" She was not used to dealing with such issues in England.

"The same principle applies. Money talks louder than birth …..or race, in this case. I will cable my contacts for names as to whom to bribe. Or if it's urgent, I might go down to Houston myself. How much time do we have?"

"I think she's about thirty-two weeks along ….if she kept the baby for another month, it would be ideal for lung development. But the sooner we get her to a hospital, the better. She isn't spotting right now, but that can change at any time. And if she does go into labor ….well, there'll be no time to lose. In the meantime ….complete bed-rest. She can't lift anything. And of course, no…..marital relations."

He nodded. She watched as he turned, and talked to the Healer, in a low voice. The Healer seemed to be in agreement. They both went back inside, and from the raised voices, Rose gathered it was the husband who was resisting. Eventually, Thad came back outside.

"The Healer says to let him deal with her husband," Thad said, with a wry grin. "Frankly, I'm only too happy to do so. Her husband is a good man, but stubborn as a mule. He doesn't like the idea of his wife staying for weeks in a strange city, and who can blame him." He added, thoughtfully, "I like that young lad. Has a good head on his shoulders, and really cares about his people. Open to new ideas in ways not many of us are."

"I agree," Rose said, softly. "Can her husband go with her?"

"If I give him paid leave, yes. And stop looking at me like that." Thad started counting on his fingers. "Room and board for the girl. Probably a nurse. Paid vacation for the husband. Not to mention whatever bribes I will have to pay to recruit a surgeon, and secure her a place in the hospital." He shook his head in mock horror. "This will be one hell of an expensive baby."

She smiled at him, for the first time, without any thought of herself. "Thank you."

He shook his head again. "It is I who must thank you. Despite my pretense at grumbling, I much prefer a live mother and child over a senseless tragedy."

He boosted her back on her horse. She shot a surreptitious glance at him. Although he seemed much less tense, his demeanor was still not in the least lover-like. _And time was running out._

She nudged the horse forward, until it fell in step beside his. She waited until she caught Thad's eye, and tried fluttering down her lashes. Blushing came naturally – and then she looked back up, trying to fasten her gaze to his lips. It was difficult to look consistently at any one thing while on horseback. She cast her eyes back down.

"Are you all right, Rose?" When she looked back up, he added, sympathetically, "The fine dust gets into _my_ eyes, too." She stared back at him, and caught a strange gleam. Almost like suppressed laughter. At any rate, he did not suddenly seem overtaken by passion for her. She sighed, internally. As she had feared, her mother's methods only worked as an extension of her mother's own vibrant persona.

He was still looking at her. "Rose. If you want to know something, all you need to do is ….._ask me."_ At her flush, he twisted his lips, and nudged the grey horse into a trot.

The white mare followed.

~~oo~~

When they returned home, it seemed like everyone had been lounging by the front of the house to catch their arrival. Thad quickly packed a small suitcase, and left twenty minutes later to catch the next train into Houston. He said, if he was successful, he would return later that night, and they could arrange to have the girl moved as early as the following morning. Rose was both relieved and disappointed to see him go.

She could feel his mother's calculating eyes, watching her, but she remained silent.

Her own mother, during their afternoon stroll, was much more direct. "Rose, Darling. Tell me - now that you had him alone for hours …what use did you make of your time?" It was unthinkable for the former Belle of three counties that a man could be in the presence of a woman –one who looked like the spitting image of her younger self -and not propose.

"I ….tried, mother," Rose said, wincing a little. "Perhaps Thad is ….a bit different from your former beaux." She envied her mother her conviction of her own charms, which went a long way towards confirming them.

"Nonsense," Scarlett said, firmly. "He's a _man_, and all men are fundamentally alike!" She shook her head at her daughter. "However, they are not mind-readers, and all too often don't understand what isn't spelled out for them, the poor dears! And don't think you can catch him with all your medical talk! You don't want him to see you as another man. What you want, is for him to see you as a _woman_. Remember what I told you about _gumption_?" That was all the encouragement a loving, but proper, mother could permit herself to give to a daughter.

~~oo~~

Much later that night, Rose slipped from her bed, and walked slowly down many dark corridors to Thad's room. Her own chamber faced the driveway, and she had heard him return just before midnight. She wore a soft, clinging white nightgown that accentuated her curves, her wild dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

_Gumption_, she said to herself. Then, before her courage could fail her, she pushed open the door.

* * *

_Some artistic license with geography was taken. LMS – the "fluttering attempt" was for you. Little Rose here is terribly inexperienced, and grasping at straws, even though she knows better. Do I ever remember how that felt. :)_


	26. Moonstruck

_M rating for this chapter. Nothing graphic, but maturish subjects matters are touched. Many many thanks to LawdyMissScarlett, not only for proofreading the story-flow, but for adding accuracy to era-related details. All mistakes remain mine, all GWTW characters remain the property of MM._

* * *

The well-oiled hinges of the oak door turned without a sound. The beige brocade curtains were half-drawn, and the full moon stuck silver stilts into the room. Thad's tastes had never been as magnificent as her father's, and his bedchamber appeared almost monk-like in its austerity. A bed and nightstand, a dresser, and a cushioned armchair made from plain, dark-stained walnut – distinct from the warm _Mesquite_ wood that furnished the rest of the house. Thad slept on his back. His matted chest was bare, his right arm flung out, the skin gleaming like ivory. A dark brown duvet cover covered his mid-section, and his legs.

Rose flushed, almost losing her nerve again.

Her bare feet moved silently over the carpet to his side. Cautiously, she leaned over him, intending to lightly tap on his shoulder. Suddenly, he snapped up, like a pocketknife closing, pinning her body down on the bed, one hand around her throat.

Rose made a gurgling noise, and struggled helplessly against his grip, which suddenly went slack.

"Damn it, Rose. What in _hell_ do you think you're doing?" He calmed his breath with an effort. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

She breathed in, and out. In, out. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I was just…."

"Just _what_? You can't sneak up on me when I'm sleeping. You _know_ that."

She sat up on the bed. Her white nightgown left very little to the imagination, skimming the soft flare of her hips like a second skin, and giving him ample view of her cleavage.

"And why the hell are you here in the middle of the night, dressed in nothing more than a nightgown? And_ such_ a nightgown, too," he muttered, under his breath.

"I wanted …"

"Right now, I don't really care what you wanted." He rose like liquid mercury, his body seeming to pour itself from a sitting into a standing form. He grabbed his black, velvet robe off the corner chair. A surreptitious glance confirmed that he'd worn nothing to bed but his drawers. She caught a glimpse of sculptured thighs, and the strange, round scar tissue that gleamed bluish in the light of the moon. "Put this on." He tossed the robe at her. Rose, already humiliated by her failed attempt at seduction, caught it clumsily with her right hand. He averted his gaze, until she had slipped the soft fabric around her shoulders, and tied it in the front. Tears of shame were gathering behind her eyelids.

With the same swift, fluid motions, he pulled on a white shirt, and trousers. "Go sit over there." He pointed to the armchair in the corner. Rose stared at him with a hostile expression, but did not stir. He could make her cover herself, but he couldn't make her move.

"I said _sit in the chair, _Rose."

She rose, and stumbled towards the chair. She would have stumbled out of the room, had her legs been able to carry her that far. With the last remnants of her pride, she scowled darkly at him. "You don't have to be_ rude_."

"I don't, do I." he said, softly. "How would you prefer me to be? After all, you came here, in the middle of the night, in such an …enticing state of undress." He stopped in front of her, and lifted up her chin. She jerked her head away. "What were you hoping for, Rose? That I would lose all pretense of control, and just _take_ you? Relieve you of the burden of actually having to _talk_ about what happened with us? Except you have no idea what _just being taken_ would mean, do you." He lowered his head, until it was only inches from hers. A small, primitive, _wiser_ part of her brain was suddenly not only mortified, but afraid. He saw the fear flame up in her eyes, and suddenly stepped back, drawing a deep breath. He turned his back to her. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"Mothers don't just warn you against these things out of meanness, Rose," he said, over his shoulders. "These are powerful instincts you're playing with. To keep them within bounds, they need …. a _frame._ Whatever that may be. Husband and wife. Man and mistress. Prostitute and client. Prearranged, pre-agreed to, by parties who understand the contract they're signing. _This,_ here – this time of night, your state of undress…..our being alone in my bedroom, without warning, without discussion ….isn't just improper, it's _dangerous_."

She shook her head. "I thought….."

He turned, and gave a sudden smirk. "Oh my God. The little girl has been reading …novels. Where the hero and the heroine impulsively fall into each other's arms, and through a night of passion, solve all of their problems."

She blushed.

"It doesn't work like that, Rosey."

"No?" She attempted a watery smile.

"No. Especially not with someone as inexperienced as you."

She dropped her head, as if having her worst fears confirmed. "I thought…." She stopped. It was clear he thought her nothing more than a child, and she would not confirm his suspicions further.

His expression softened slightly. "Listen to me, Rosey." He stood in front of her again, looking down. "Bodies are …powerful conduits, and if you overload them, they are apt to shut down." His mind groped around for an example she could understand. "Do you remember our dance?"

She nodded, flushing again. "Do you remember ….how it felt?"

"Yes," she said, softly.

"You were fully dressed….I was fully dressed….and we were barely touching. And after all these years, if I close my eyes - I can still remember the feel of your waist against my palm."

She flushed. The faint echo of passion in his voice washed over her senses like heady wine.

"Now imagine those layers of clothes removed. And our bodies….much, much closer."

She shivered.

"Do you see what I mean?" He smiled faintly. "And it's …..late. We're both tense, because of all that has happened, and all that's still unsaid. If I took you, now - all of those things would ….come to bed with us, and the resulting backlash would probably ruin everything."

"How do you mean?"

He looked at her, as if trying to assess just how blunt he needed to be."I mean - it would be awkward, and uncomfortable, and ….painful for you, Rose. It couldn't be anything else, under these circumstances. You would try to please me, but you'd have no idea how to go about it. And you'd be much too nervous to let _me_ please you. You would try to tell yourself that it was fine- that you liked it- because you had asked for it. But your body would know better. And you'd have issues with intimacy forever after. And I would hate myself for what I did to you, for nothing more than a moment's release. And I don't want that."

She said nothing for a moment, letting his words sink in. "How…."

"How _does_ it work?" He raised his brows. "Not like this."

"I gathered that," she said, recovering some of her nerve, and with it, her sense of irony. "Some foolish people have even gone so far as to call me a _quick study_ in the past."

He smiled, faintly. "You could try …_asking_. Like I suggested earlier today."

She tossed her head. "I thought I _was_ asking."

He shook his head no. "No, Rosey. Showing up in a flimsy nightgown in a man's bedroom in the middle of the night isn't…. asking. It's coercion. If we start out by…. _coercing_ each other, we might as well give up now."

Her blue eyes flashed. It wasn't that she hadn't understood –but she was young, and proud, and haughty. And she housed darker fears, that pride now froze within her breast. "How _should_ I have asked, according to _Monsieur Besserwisser_?"

A short pause. "Dear Thad," he offered, with a faint grin. "I believe there are many things you and I need to discuss. Would you like to meet me at the hunting lodge Monday morning at ten a.m. so we can talk in private?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "You know, _talk_. All the rage this season in Paris, they say."

"What you said, then." she muttered, with more than a hint of rebelliousness. "Why Monday? Why not tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow morning is Church, and I think Mother is planning a picnic by the Lake in the afternoon."

"Ah." She tossed her hair back. Her eyes glimmered opaque in the moonlight."Hunting lodge Monday at ten it is, then." With a renewed scowl, she added, "Are you sure you want to meet me alone? I'd rather not be accused of …._coercing you _again."

"Thank you for asking, but…..no. In full daylight, with everyone properly dressed and awake, I'll be all right." He smirked at her, and added, in a much lighter tone than before. "But just to be safe, wear something with a very high neckline."

She caught his altered mood, and lifted her eyes warily. "Are you still angry with me?"

He shook his head. "I was never really angry with you."

"You could have fooled me."

He looked at her levelly. "A man who looks angry is usually ….. _afraid_." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Don't tell your friends, ok? Lest I be accused of spilling secrets to the enemy. And keep the robe for now. Just don't leave it out where the maid, or – heavens forbid -your mother can find it."

"Good night," she said, but she remained immobile. She had morphed through so many rôles today - competent physician, incompetent seductress, naive ingénue - that she was reluctant to have her final rôle be that of a chastened child.

Perhaps he sensed it. As he had done over two years ago in her parent's hallway, he raised his hand, and gently brushed the knuckle of his index finger over her cheek. His touch sank down, settling into the deepest recesses of her body, calling up blood. Cheeks and lips flushed cherry red. Her pupils dilated. His eyes darkened. "Go."

She had taken only a few steps into the hallway when she turned again.

"Thad."

The door that had almost closed, opened once more. "What."

"I'm a terrible doctor. I forgot to ask - what happened in Houston?"

"I found a surgeon, and a room, and a nurse. How's that for efficient? We'll move the girl tomorrow morning. Before church."

"You're wonderful," she smiled, unstintingly.

"Yes. Don't ask me what it cost, first and last. And as a reward, my ….innocence is threatened." He shook his head, taking in her still-flushed cheeks, and the reddish tint of her neck, slipping out of the folds of his robe. "You're looking mighty good to me right now, Rose. Run, before I eat you up."

She laughed like tinkling bluebells. As she walked away, she pushed up the folds of his robe, staring at the blush that had spread over her chest, and down to her forearms. She touched the reddish skin with a cautious fingertip. Her body was behaving as if it were real – reacting to the things _she_ felt. It was altogether astonishing.

~~oo~~

When she returned to her own hallway, she was greeted by a loud, piercing wail.

Pushing aside her thoughts of Thad, she ran forward to her parent's bedroom. For the second time that night, she thrust open a door to a room not her own.

"Mother….are you all right?" she whispered.

"Shhhh…..honey, I'm here," she heard her father murmur. As she entered, his head swung briefly towards the door, but he immediately turned his attention back to his sobbing wife. Scarlett was still caught in her dream.

"No….._Bonnie_…darling, don't take that jump…."

Rhett pulled her up, and cradled her against his chest. "Shhhh. It's all right, my love. I'm here. " Rose made a move as if to withdraw, but he held up his hand. "You wait, Rose."

Rose stood in the middle of the room, feeling useless. She watched her father continue to cradle his wife, stroking her gently, kissing her head, murmuring endearments. Eventually, Scarlett fell back into what looked like a deeper slumber. After observing her for a few minutes, and assuring himself she would not wake up again, he untangled himself gently, and got up. Unlike his nephew, he wore a sensible, conservative nightshirt, over which he now slipped a white robe. What little she had glimpsed of her mother's nightgown seemed equally dull, and out of character. Rose wondered idly if Gerry still crawled into bed with them in the morning, or if this was merely their travel attire. In her mind, she re-dressed them both in something more elegant.

"Come with me," Rhett motioned to his daughter.

He left the door ajar, presumably so he would hear Scarlett call if she needed him again. He gestured Rose into the small sitting room across the hallway. He carefully lit the lamp, while Rose seated herself on the settee.

"Does Mother still have nightmares?" There was no way to dodge the inevitable conversation, but perhaps one could delay its start.

"Yes. She's had them ever since Ella's miscarriage. Not nearly as often as before, but from time to time, they do come. Especially when she's tired - as she is now, from all the traveling."

"Sorry to hear that. I'd hoped they had gone away."

"They may never go away completely." Rhett said, absentmindedly. "She rarely wakes up from them anymore, as long as I'm there to hold her. So I guess that's ….. progress. And the frequency has gone down considerably."

She nodded. "And you?"

"I grieve differently," he said, an enigmatic look in his eyes, refusing to be distracted further. "Rose. I'm sure you know what I want to ask you - _why_ are you up, and why in hell are you up _wearing a man's robe?"_

"Thad gave it to me," she said, with perfect composure.

"I was afraid you would say that," her father said, heavily. She watched the subtle display of emotions across his features ….discomfort, embarrassment, and something else. Something like fear.

She laughed.

"I'm glad you feel this is so amusing," he said, heavily.

"I don't. I'm just laughing at how easy you are to read, compared to …him."

"Most people would disagree with you there," her father said, languidly. "Including your mother."

"I know. _I_ can read you easily, because….we are alike, you and I. And because…"

"Because I'm not the person you are in love with," he finished for her. He sat down across from her, on the large armchair, leaning forward. "You are quite right. We are very much alike in that regard as well. But, _Rose…."_

"He sent me away."

"Good." There was a flicker of relief in his eyes. "I would have hoped that he would have…..sent you away. But…"

"You're not sure if you could have sent Mother away. When you were his age."

"No. In fact, I'm quite sure that I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

He said, wearily, "I would have been too eager to grasp at ….whatever she offered. Including her body. Hoping against hope that by doing so, I would gain access to her heart. Thad … at least has some idea that you care for him. He can afford to pass for now, and wait for better things." He regarded his large hands, thoughtfully. "And he also has … one other advantage."

"What's that?"

"My own bad example," her father said, with something only tangentially related to a smirk.

"I see."

"Perhaps you do see," said her father. "I foolishly spent the first six years of my marriage playing with a loaded deck, with all of my cards under the table. I am …_somewhat_ happy you don't seem to be going that route, and putting yourself, …. _out there,_ but, _Rose_….."

"Yes?"

"…._this….." _he motioned to herself, and the black robe_, "_is overdoing it by …..a rather large margin."

She smirked again. "Mother told me to show some gumption."

"I'm sure your mother meant to purse your lips, and flutter your fan at him," he said, wryly. "Not visit him at night wearing …..Rose! You are wearing _something _under that robe - are you not?"

"Yes. But I'm sure you don't want to see it. It might not be good for your heart, Daddy."

He groaned with real pain. "Rose. Please do not do such a thing. Ever again."

"Thad said the same thing," she said, airily, the tension of the night finally dissolving into puerile mirth. "I'm starting to think I'm surrounded by fusty old men with no sense of adventure."

"Unfortunately, _you_ are too old to turn over on my knee, even though I'm tempted," Rhett said, shaking his head. "We never forced you to endure much oversight with regards to the young men who courted you, because you've never abused your freedom until today. If you promise to be a … good girl in the future, I won't mention this to your mother. But if I ever catch you in the corridors after bed-time again, I'll…"

"You'll forget I'm not seven anymore, and turn me over on your knee after all," she finished for him, not informing him just how woefully inadequate he was in his role as a disciplinarian. "No worries, Daddy. I'm cured of night-time expeditions. Your nephew already saw to that." She kissed him briefly on the cheek, and would have patted him on the head, had he not caught her hand. "Good night."

"Rose…"

"What?"

"Do lose that robe. Before your mother finds it."

She half-turned, and smirked. "You and Thad. Could open your own Greek chorus."

He stared after her as she walked to her room, closing the door behind her. He stood, staring at the door, for a few long minutes afterwards. Then he sighed.

"Children," he muttered to himself. "Before they're finished with me, they'll have turned every black hair on my head."

With that prophetic utterance, he went back into his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

* * *

_Thanks again for your wonderful reviews. Pretty much all of you (with your usual brilliance) knew right away that a) this is not the kind of gumption Scarlett would have condoned and b) it will probably backfire, or at least not work out as planned. Next chapter: Charles and Belle talk, and Charlotte, who always runs into the wrong people, makes an unexpected acquaintance._


	27. Sunset's Wine

_Thank you, lovely readers, for your wonderful words. Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I admit the Rhett-Rose scene had me cracking up the entire time I was writing it (my husband probably thought I was finally going insane). Of course ...Scarlett finds the robe. You knew she would, right? And of course we must do something with Charlotte. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The faint air cools in the gloaming,

And peaceful flows the Rhine,

The thirsty summits are drinking

The sunset's flooding wine.

**- Heinrich Heine, The Lorelei **

Belle Watling was an early riser. More often then not, late insomnia would drive her from her bed before five-thirty, and she would sit in the east-facing parlor, watching the sunrise over the Ranch, sipping her morning coffee. She took it black.

She was engaged in this contemplative activity, when Charles Butler walked in.

"Mornin'" he said, briefly, joining her to stand by the windows. He was already dressed for church, in an elegant three-piece suit, and a dark walking-stick with a silver hilt. He was still a very handsome man, despite the slight tendency to _embonpoint - _a result of his sedentary habits.

"Good mornin'" she replied. She was glad she had taken the time to set her hair, and put on a bit of powder, and rouge. She had also applied a touch of charcoal to her eyes, enhancing their pale blue color. After all, she had not been a professional for nothing. "Coffee?"

"Thanks." He poured himself a cup, with large, steady hands. Another similarity with his elder brother. She noted he took it black, as well. "Looking nice," he complimented.

She blushed. "I did, once." This morning, she had chosen a walking dress of dark brown velvet, subtly embroidered with miniature rosebuds. Much more conservative than anything she had owned while she was still… in business. Or even before.

He was staring at her, and she wondered if he was remembering the nineteen year old she had been, and comparing her with what she looked like today. She rather hoped not. She hid her hands in the folds of her skirt.

"Fine place," he said, amiably, gesturing over to the rolling fields beyond the window. "Well kept. Excellent sport year 'round, Thad says. Will take me fishin' later this week." He had a habit of nodding to confirm his own words, that suddenly came flooding back to her. He was nodding, now. "Did well for himself, the boy."

_No thanks ter you_, Belle thought.

He had been studying her face, as if refreshing his memory. "I been thinking." He waited until she lifted her head, and continued, "If it's all right with you - and 'im - I'd like to …formally adopt 'im. Give him my name."

Belle stared. At one point in her life, she would have given anything for those words. But …. "why now?"

He shook his head, as if at loss for an answer. "My wife is dead," he finally offered, inadequately. "Died seven years ago. In the earthquake of '86. I expect you heard."

She said nothing.

"I have no son but – 'im. My daughters….." he nodded again. It was beginning to irritate her. "They're far away."

"Wouldn't they be … scandalized?" She tried to imagine the reaction of Polite Society to such an announcement as he was proposing. The venerable Charles Butler, who had not made a single misstep in his staid, boring life after his one youthful indiscretion, _legitimizing the son of a... fancy woman._ It would almost be worth it, just for that.

"Sure would." He smiled, and suddenly he looked much more youthful. "Old enough to please myself. Thinking about moving 'round here, perhaps. Get to know 'im." She threw him a look that was almost a scowl. He noticed. He had always noticed these things. "If he'll have me," he added, quickly.

"What makes you think he would?" Belle said, feeling a surge of old bile gag in her throat. "Thad don' think too highly of what you did ter us. Don't think too highly of _you_, for that matter." _Neither do I,_ she added, in her mind. She herself had expected to be rejected at some point. But she had not expected him to reject their _son_ out of hand.

"I know," Charles said, with something like remorse in his voice. "But that's what he was hopin' for, I think. Before." At her questioning glance, he clarified, "Came to Charleston. Wanted to marry the little one. Now that _that's _on again…..."

"But it's _not_ on again," Belle exclaimed. "He will marry that … cold-blooded ….._icicle_….. over my dead body."

Charles looked at her with some astonishment. "Rosey? A bit reserved, to be sure. But perfectly... amiable. Pretty as a picture, too. Will make 'im an excellent wife."

She shook her head obstinately. Just like a man, to be blinded by a woman's face. "Thad will marry someone else."

"You know best," Charles replied, obviously unwilling to argue. "Want to ...make the offer. Something I can do for 'im!" He tapped his walking-stick on the floor. "Tried to pay m'brother back for the money he spent educating 'im," he offered, as an afterthought. "Wouldn't take it."

"Why not?"

"Said he was _his_ son, too."

She felt strangely warmed by the words. Rhett had been her longest love. And her deepest grief. Aside from Thad.

"Ask 'im," she said, finally. "All 'e kin do is say no." In reality, she had no idea how her son would react. Her heart contracted again. _I don' even know my own boy. _

And Rose, _who despised her_, would alienate him even further, she thought, glumly. _I bet she wouldn't even let me stay with them. _She tried to imagine a life away from her son. Farmed out somewhere. Not too close. Well taken care of ….he would see to that…..but once again, only a casual visitor in his life. Away from the grandchildren she had set her heart on. Away from everything in life that mattered.

"You all right?" Charles asked, with some concern, jolting her out of her musings.

"Yes." She surreptitiously wiped at her eyes. _Built too close to the water these days,_ she told herself.

There was a commotion in the courtyard, and she saw three men, including her son, mount their horses. Another man jumped on the driver's seat of a buggy. They heard the voices, but couldn't make out the words.

"They're moving an Indian girl to Houston," Belle explained, when she felt Charles' eyes on her.

"Are they, now." It was that lack of curiosity that she also remembered. It had been flattering, when the one thing he'd been interested in was _her._

Together, they watched him direct the men, and the carriage, until they had all ridden off in a cloud of dust. Both were lost in thought.

After breakfast, the carriages drove up to the house, one by one. Belle watched Thad help Rose into her light overcoat. As if by accident, his fingers brushed lightly over the nape of her neck.

The wagons halted in front of the church. The town, dressed in what passed for their Sunday's best, was eying them all with interest, as they walked slowly up the aisle. Strangely enough, the Watlings were the closest thing the small place had to aristocracy.

Thad sang his usual solo, together with a small, straggly, strawberry-blonde girl, whose sweet, lilting soprano wove in and out of his dark bass.

_All glory, laud and honor,_  
_To Thee, Redeemer, King,_  
_To Whom the lips of children_  
_Made sweet hosannas ring._

_Thou art the King of Israel,_  
_Thou David's royal Son,_  
_Who in the Lord's Name comest,_  
_The King and Blessèd One._

And then, more softly, the last verse.

_To Thee, before Thy passion,_  
_They sang their hymns of praise;_  
_To Thee, now high exalted,_  
_Our melody we raise._

She was grateful that the darkness hid her tears. But she had a _plan_. And then, it would all be well.

~~oo~~

Rhett was dressing for the picnic, when his wife came in, her face a most alluring shade of red. In her hand, she held a black square, which she unfolded, but only after closing the door firmly behind her.

Hidden within, was perhaps the flimsiest nightgown ever to be designed at the _Rue de la Paix. _

"You'll never guess what happened!" Scarlett reported, blushing even more furiously. "I was looking for my silver comb – you know the one I mean? That I bought to go with my grey dress? I thought Minnie might have accidentally moved it into Rose's trunk when we were packing, so I went to her room, to look. Well, I didn't find my comb, but I found….this!" She giggled involuntarily. He raised his brows in what he hoped looked like confusion. "It's _your_ robe, darling – I didn't know you had a black one! – and …and the _nightgown_ that you bought me from Paris. The one that was shipped just before we left. I wanted to bring it, in case …." She blushed. "Well! Minnie must have put it into Rose's trunk, thinking it was mine. Oh dear!" She shuddered. "Whatever would _Rose _have thought, had she found it!"

She held out her hand; the silky, almost transparent, material dangling from her hand. Rhett stared at it, with an expression not unlike that of a prairie dog eying a rattlesnake.

"Uurrrrrks," he said, with a shudder.

Even on someone as small as Rose, the hem was unlikely to hit even mid-thigh. As for the décolleté …

"Darling, are you all right?" Scarlett asked, worriedly. "You look …..faint!" She then patted his arm encouragingly, thinking how adorable it was that her wordly husband felt even more protective of their daughter's innocence than she did. "I'm fairly certain she didn't see it – it was folded together so small, and covered so well, that I almost didn't notice it myself. Well! I will have to be …more careful in the future!"

With these cheerful words, she proceeded to conceal the nightgown in her own trunk.

~~oo~~

Not too much later, the carriages arrived once more, to drive the entire group to the lakeside. Afternoon sunlight bounced over the water. Everyone exclaimed about the beauty of the scenery. The boys chased sandpipers, and collected bright rocks in small piles. The women spread blankets on the sand, digging up roots to ensure a large, smooth surface. Baskets were opened, and an endless surply of sandwiches, cheeses, cold meats and cut fruits emerged, along with bottles of light, fruity Rosés, ephemeral Whites, and juices for the children.

Charlotte had wandered away from the others. She broke through some thick, thorny underbrush, and skipped along the soggy edge of a small stream, intending to trace it to its source. She could hear a spring or a pool tinkling in the distance. She had always had the mind of an explorer. She kept her eyes on her feet, mindful of the lecture Thad had given them all on scorpions, and rattlesnakes. She walked for another fifteen minutes, until the trees suddenly widened.

By a large, natural pool, on the highest stone of a group of small rocks, sat like the Lorelei a blonde woman of about thirty years of age. She clearly at the advanced stages of pregnancy. A loose blue mantle, imperfectly hiding her form, was her one nod to modesty.

"Hey there," the other woman called, when she caught sight of Charlotte. "Who're you?" Her heavy Texan accent was not unpleasing to the ear.

Charlotte was blushing, unsure of what to do. Where she came from, a woman in that …..state… would be …_inside._ She remembered her breeding. "Charlotte Thornton, m'am."

The woman's expression changed. "_Thornton._ I see," she said, with her throaty voice. "You're one of _them_."

"One of whom?" She had no idea who this woman was, or what she had done to vex her.

"The…. crowd that descended on Thad," the other woman clarified. "The poor man has been complaining about it for weeks!"

"Oh," said Charlotte, rather taken aback. "But he seemed ….pleased to have us. His mother, too."

"Of course they would _pretend,"_ the other woman said, gently.

"Urrrks," made Charlotte, unsure of what she should say. "Perhaps you'd like to be alone?" she asked, hopefully.

"Not at all," the woman said, patting the rock beside her. "Sit. And tell me _awl _about yourself."

Charlotte, who was still bewildered, did not move. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather stand."

The blue eyes narrowed. "_You_ must be the …._unmarried _cousin," she said, with superficial brightness.

Charlotte stared at her. It was perhaps unfortunate that years of verbal abuse had conditioned her to freeze in the face of insults.

"And you are …..who?" She remembered suddenly that the woman had not yet introduced herself.

"Gina Schafer. Thad Watling's …..fiancée."

That was news to Charlotte. "You and Thad …..are to be married?"

"Yes," Gina said, gently, preening on her rock. "As soon as our baby is born. We didn't have time to plan a wedding with ….y'all….comin'. And expectin' to be entertained."

"Really," said Charlotte, whose heart was beginning to hammer in her chest on Rose's behalf. She was beginning to think he had been right to warn them about _rattlesnakes_. And scorpions. Something in her snapped. "Seems to me you had roughly….nine months to plan. It doesn't add up, at all. Does Cousin Thad _know_ he's getting married?"

She couldn't believe she had just said that.

She watched the blue eyes narrow. "Are you calling me a liar?" Gina murmured, with barely concealed wrath.

"Maybe," Charlotte said, heedlessly. "He told us nothing about you. Perhaps," she said, inspiration striking, "you want to marry _him_, but _he_ doesn't want to marry _you."_

"Oh!" the other woman said, and, in a sudden swift moment, slid down from her perch, and reached into the water to splash Charlotte's face. She was so heavy, and moved so slowly, that Charlotte could have stepped aside easily, had she not been so shocked. As it was, she did not move at all, and the entire front of her dress was drenched in the process.

Charlotte felt her blood go hot, and her brain slow down. With much more agility than her opponent, she bent at the knees, and scooped up a large handful of the soft, squishy mud that lay at her feet. Raising her arms, she dumped it unceremoniously over the blonde head. _Mud won't hurt the baby,_ she thought, grimly.

Gina shrieked. Charlotte bent again, to rinse the mud off her hands.

"Good-bye," Charlotte said, feeling irrepressible giggles rise in her throat at the ridiculous sight before her. Gina wore a crown of mud, that was dripping over her face and neck, and trickling down her décolleté. Not at all like the Lorelei anymore, Charlotte thought.

She ran back all the way to the Lakeside, giggling until she rejoined the others.

~~oo~~

"Charlotte," Ella said, her soft, sad face full of concern. "Why is your dress wet, love? You'll catch cold!"

Ella. Always worried about drafts. "I'm fine," Charlotte said, scanning the crowd. There was Thad, talking to Scarlett. Rose stood further away by the waterside, with her father and Uncle.

Charlotte approached the first group with her quick, light step. "Can I ….talk to you?" she asked Thad, blushing furiously, before she could stop herself, and before she had even finished walking. _Oh no_, she thought. _Too late_. Now he – and Scarlett – and Rose! would get the wrong idea. _Again._

Thad merely nodded. "Of course. Please excuse me," he told his aunt. She could see Scarlett's eyebrows lift as she watched them.

"What is it?" If he was surprised by her unexpected query, he did not show it.

She did not dare to look at him. "Urrrgh." She cracked her knuckles, as she was wont to do when nervous.

He laughed. "I don't bite."

"Are you sure?" Charlotte asked, candidly. He still flustered her. "You see …..errrr…."

"Out with it," he said, his low voice suddenly gentle. "Whatever it is that's bothering you, it can't be as bad as all that."

"That's the thing," she said, frankly. "I don't _know _how bad it is. It's none of my business, you see. And I've …..misinterpreted ...something else not long ago, and made …..assumptions ….and….well…. like I said, it's all none of my business! But…..Rose …."

"Ah," he said, comprehension suddenly dawning in his eyes. "You've run into Gina."

She looked surprised, but relieved. She nodded. "At the pool. Back over..." she made a far-flung pointing gesture..."there. She said you and she were….. getting married. And …."

"And that she's expecting my child."

"Yes."

He laughed. "Trust Gina to stalk us. And to blurt out all of her ...dearest hopes, to the first one of you that she meets." He shook his head. "Did _she_ get your dress wet?"

She nodded, looking embarrassed. "I sort of...got mud all over her, for that."

He threw his head back, and roared with laughter, drawing several surprised glances from the others. "Gina has had that coming for years. As for the child - she's also been trying to convince me it is mine, for the last nine months."

"Then it ….._isn't_ yours?"

"No." At her curious expression, he grinned. "And no. I have no intention of expanding on this topic."

"Of course not! That would be quite improper," she exclaimed, torn between mortification and wrath. "But nobody ever explains _anything_ to us girls," she complained, mournfully. "As if we were ...stupid. And we're not!"

His lips quivered irrepressibly. "I'm sure you aren't."

"Not that it matters for me," she added, glumly. "No one has ever been interested in _me_, in _that_ way." She wondered why she was telling this to _him_, of all people. Her hand crept to her nose.

There was something in his eyes, like grief. "Charlotte. No man cares that your …_nose_ doesn't fit the current mode. Men don't think like that."

She touched the offending appendage gingerly. "Then why has nobody ever proposed to me?"

"Because _you_ believe that you're unattractive. It shows." He pushed his hair back from his eyes. "A few women have perfectly symmetrical faces - and figures …..but for most, beauty is _art _– and attitude. You and Rose have the art down pat. Now all _you_ have to do, is to project the attitude, as well." He smiled encouragingly. "Nor are _face - _or figure- the only kinds of beauty."

"Right," she said, not at all convinced. "You…Rose ….._Rose_ is one of the most beautiful girls in the South."

"I don't care what Rose looks like," he said. "I never have. And yes, she has a lovely face, and a striking figure. But have you seen Rose move? She used to bump into everything when she was a child." He grinned reminiscently, and added, "watch Scarlett sometimes, and you'll see what that sort of self-possession can do for you. Compared to her, Rose still walks like a day-old foal."

Charlotte laughed at this clear-sighted assessment of his beloved. "Aunt Scarlett told us she had to ban small side-tables from the house in Galveston, when Rose was little. Because they all got knocked over."

"Yes." He looked out again, over the expanse of the water. "There are a lot of different kinds of beauty, Charlotte. Aspect, motion, form …intelligence. Character. And the kind of grace that wants others to be …_.comfortable_, yet still see the world with a clear eye. That's yours. It may take a _connoisseur_ to appreciate it, but he'll find you. And when he does, you may see you are happier with him, than with those who only value the symmetry of face and figure. Which are ...amongst other things .._.fleeting_."

She smiled. "Yours is that you _see_ people," she said. "And your voice," she added, cheekily. Suddenly, he no longer flustered her. "How did you….learn all that?"

Again, that strange look. But he said nothing.

"Will you be able to work things out with Rose?" she finally asked, accepting his silence.

"I don't know," he said, with a wry smile. "There's a lot of ….ballast." His eyes went to that damsel, who was standing by the water, the afternoon light in her dark curls.

"Good luck," Charlotte offered. It was all she could give him.

"Thank you." Rose was watching them from a distance, and although her expression was blank, there was something stiff about her pose. He sighed, and murmured, almost to himself, "We'll need it."

* * *

_Ok. You get to choose which characters (aside from R&S and Thad&Rose) that you want to hear about next. The little boys? Ella&Chase? More Charlotte? Wade and Phoebe? A flashback to the *bad old days* with Rose/Rhett? Thad's childhood? Something else? Let me know!_


	28. Newton's Law

_Thank you, once more, for your kind words and your suggestions about what to write! I will try to get to as many of your questions as time, and the plot allows (my initial 20-chapter outline is shot many times over, lol)._

_For LMS, who asked about Thad's childhood, and the "demons". For WiwitDM, who wanted to know about Thad's childhood/adolescence, if he was ashamed if his mother was a prostitute, and if he ever dreamed that Rhett was his real father, as well as the meeting with Bonnie. WiwitDM also asked about Tasha, and how they fell in love. For the Guest who finds Thad interesting, and wanted to know more about him._

_Many many thanks to LawdyMissScarlett, who supplied me with much needed information about the free Gens de Couleur Libres of New Orleans, and thus gave depth and dimension to the character of Tasha. All mistakes remain mine. The characters of GWTW remain the property of the MM estate._

_Maturish content warning, due to the nature of the things discussed._

* * *

Thad walked a path through the hills after supper, his body moving mechanically, his mind lost in thought. With very few exceptions, he had lived a life surrounded by people, and he had learned to guard his infrequent moments of solitude. For the first time in years, he felt a lightness in his chest, and a softness in his heart, that he did not yet want to expose to the mundane tasks of settling a house full of guests down for the night.

He stopped under a group of beech trees, listening to the rustle of the wind, and to the song of late birds overhead. Dark clouds of the evening had begun to sail in fleets over the sky. As in most parts of the South, the interval between dusk and nightfall was brief.

He exhaled, filling his lungs with the sweet, fragrant air. It wasn't optimism – he was, truth be told, far from certain about the outcome of tomorrow's talk with Rose. But for once, there was peace in the twilight, and in his soul.

For a singular, transitory moment, he allowed himself just to _be._

~~oo~~

_New Orleans, 1871_

The curly-haired boy slid through the door into the small cubby behind the bar. At this time of day, the spacious, elegant saloon was still empty of patrons, the chairs turned upside down on the table, to make sweeping easier. The boy's movements were swift and agile, and his feet made no sound as he came up behind her.

"Booo," he said, with a smirk. She jumped, and turned, almost dropping the dishcloth from her hand.

"Thad!" she exclaimed, her voice torn between wrath and amusement. "I thought I _told_ you not to do that any more." She was, perhaps, only a year older than him, with a café-au-lait complexion, and glistening, tightly sprung black curls. Her slender, girlish form was flawless, as were her perfectly even features.

He grinned, leaning against the wall, looking at her. She was a _Quadroon_, a member of the once proud and renowned caste of _Gens de Couleur libres _of New Orleans. She was also the young mistress of the saloon's owner – one of the most prestigious places of its kind in New Orleans, catering to the local and business elite. The saloon owner had furnished her an apartment across the street, but she often came over to his place of business act as host, and delight the well-born patrons with her elegant conversation, graceful dancing and singing.

"If I stay locked up too long by myself, my mind becomes dull," she had confided to Thad, when they had first met – after he had been hired to play the piano at the establishment on weekends.

He had appreciated the sentiment. And he had been intrigued. She was pretty, but what was more, she was the first well-educated woman he had run into. He had been unaware prior to meeting her that there were women who worried about intellectual stimulation. She spoke beautiful French, could discuss _Voltaire_ and _Descartes_, and had a sweet singing voice. As for her other assets…

His black eyes roved over her figure so blatantly that she laughed. "Got to keep myself entertained somehow, don't I," he said, raising his crescent brows. "Seeing as you're so…. _hard-hearted_ you won't even give me a …kiss." His eyes went to her full, red lips.

She shook her head. "You know we can't," she told him, reprovingly. "If Mr. Thatcher catches us, he'll be _furious_."

"I don't care about Mr. Thatcher," he grinned. "What he doesn't know, won't hurt him." He took a step closer. "Come, Tasha," he coaxed. "Just _one_." He put his right hand over his heart, and declared solemnly. "I swear I'll live off it for the rest of my _life_."

"You'll be wanting another one in a minute," she laughed. "And _then_ you'll be wanting more than just kisses. You …._.men….._ are all alike."

He affected a wounded look. "How can you say such things, when you know I love you with all my heart?"

She turned to the countertop she had been scrubbing, and sighed. It was not _her _job, but she never thought a task beneath her, which had won her the adoration of the saloon's entire staff.

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder, and forcing her to turn around.

"You say that you love me, but you don't mean it."

He paused, and thought. "I do," he said, as if surprised at himself.

"If you meant it, you wouldn't be playing piano at …._that other place,_ like you are."

His face became blank. "I don't work there much," he said, defensively. "But the pay's much better than here."

"It's not good for you," she said, her concern for him obvious in her face. "It isn't a place like …_this_, where well-bred men come to be entertained, and drink, and play cards. _Those_ people - they ….mess with your head."

"Amongst other things," he said, cryptically. He wove his hand into her hair, caressing the back of her neck. "I can learn a lot there, Tasha" he murmured, persuasively. "The girls've been teaching me things. I can use it …to protect myself."

"That sort of thing won't _protect_ anyone," she insisted.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew…"

"Have they been bothering you again in the dorm, when you're asleep?" Her soft eyes were full of compassion.

He tossed his head. "I can handle them." He smirked. "_They've _been teaching me that, too." He took a gleaming pocketknife from his trousers, and spun it around.

She sighed. "Keep it up, and soon you'll be no better than them."

"You've been listening to rumors," he said, dismissively. "Spread by people who know nothing."

She shook her head sadly. "You're not black. You're not even _colored_. _We_ know." She looked at the boy. His skin was fair, but he had dark eyes, and wild curls - not unlike some Mulattos - or Quadroons. It was easy to forget he was not one of them. Until he reminded her, or she, him. "That place is …_.dark_."

He smiled, and suddenly, he looked much older than he was. "No, Tash. _That _place isn't dark. Dark….is what happens on those streets every day. Dark is …..you being here, having to take up with the likes of Mr. Thatcher when you were barely fourteen. _Dark _is those little boys at school, dying of the typhoid fever. _That's_ dark."

She couldn't understand. She was the daughter of a free Mulatto woman, who had born three children to the white man whose mistress she had been for many years. When she was older, her mother had married a free man of color, and turned her back on the past. She had designed a similar path for her daughters, whom she had educated along her caste's stringent code, and given into concubinage to white men before they were even out of girlhood. Like many Mulatto mothers, she had made a difficult calculation, based on the prejudices of the society that surrounded them: Tasha and her sister could not quite pass for white, but the next generation could reasonably hope to fit into mainstream society. Tasha had been born into harsh realities, but there was love in her life. Family. Faith. Music. Laughter. In many ways, she was much more innocent than he.

"I still don't like it."

He raised his brows. "Why do _you_ care?"

She smiled a wavering smile. "Because I _care _about you. You know I do."

He saw his chance, and pounced. "If you _loved_ me, you'd kiss me."

"I _do_ love you, Thad," she said, softly, her gentle brown eyes liquid with emotion.

He smiled, and took a step closer, lifting up her chin with his hand. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to demur. One hand went to her jaw, the other to the nape of her neck. His fingers made slow, deliberate, teasing circles, not at all like the fumbling hands of the boy he was. She shuddered, and moved away, even as his lips and hands were sending tremors down her spine.

"Don't touch me like that," she said.

His face turned cool. "Like what?" She remained silent, but her body was no longer pliant and welcoming. "All right," he said, coldly. "I'll go where I'm appreciated." He didn't look at her, refusing to see the pain in her eyes. "And don't expect me back for a few days. My uncle's in town with his brat, and he wants us all to play _happy family_."

"Thad …." she said, her doe-like eyes pleading with him. "Come for supper at my parent's place tomorrow. Mother's making sweet potatoes and roast. Your favorite. She said to invite you."

His thoughts went to the charming, two-story house that her mother had bought when Tasha was still small. Tasha's Stepfather, who had been a free colored artisan even before the Reconstruction, was as well-read and open-minded as his wife and stepchildren. There would be music, and talk, and dancing. _Warmth_ that extended even to waifs like him.

"Maybe," he said merely. He felt a frisson of guilt, that he had been courting Tasha right under her parent's nose. They had many plans for their daughter – plans that did not include the bastard son of a brothel madam. Tasha had once shyly shared with him that she hoped to run her own catering business when her current _arrangement_ was over - plans which her mother fully supported. Many _Mulatto _and _Quadroon_ women were successful independent business owners in New Orleans. And they had been good to him.

He sighed, and gave her a half-smile, to show her he was not upset anymore. Then he was gone.

~~oo~~

He turned off the street, ran through the main entrance, and dashed up the stairs to the dormitory. His bedroom was on the second hall, at the very end. He was head scout of his room, in command of nine younger boys, whom he ran with the precision of a military camp.

He passed another room on the way, and heard a fluting taunt wafer out into the semi-darkness. "Uhhhhh uhhhh….looookit ….the _bastard_ is back!"

Not too long ago, Thad would have charged at his tormentor, fists flying, heedless of the fact that the other boy was two years older, and fifty pounds heavier than he. And he would have ended up with a black eye, or a bloody nose, or worse.

Now, he knew better. He did not turn. Instead, he started to slow down, and to whistle. His hand snuck into his pocket.

The other boy, irritated by the lack of response, stepped out into the hallway. Thad slowed down even more. The boy fell into step behind him, bent forward, whispering obscenities into his ear. "Perhaps I should go ter Atlanta. _Visit your Momma_. Heard _she's_ a barrel of fun…"

Suddenly, without his body betraying the change in direction, Thad had spun around, the full force of the acceleration, and his entire weight, behind his balled fist. It struck the other boy fully in the most tender part of his stomach. The boy doubled over in pain, sinking to his knees.

"F = _m_a", Thad said, with some satisfaction that the laws of physics had now been validated by experiment. Then he added, softly, "If I hear so much as a _squeak _out of you or your friends again, you'll regret it." He had pulled out his new pocketknife, and playfully snapped it open and shut for emphasis. "Do you understand?"

The boy paled, and swallowing dryly, he nodded.

"Good," Thad said. The entire time, he had not raised his voice at all.

~~oo~~

He met Rhett and his daughter in front of their hotel at five. The streets were still teaming with life, and people, and music. New Orleans was always in motion, like a vast, colorful sea.

The first thing that struck him was how much older his uncle looked. There were subtle new lines in his face, that had not been there a few years ago. His eyes swept to the uncombed girl in the stained blue dress, twirling at his feet.

"Hullu, Uncle Rhett," he said, blandly.

The older man smiled. "Thad. Good to see you, my boy. How have you been?" He ran his eyes critically over Thad's frame. His body was stretching ….becoming lanky, and hard. The boy's curls were still as wild as ever- as wild as Bonnie's were - the product of their shared Butler heritage.

"Daaaddy," Bonnie complained, who was not used to having his eyes on someone else, even for a moment. "Lookit me!" He looked at her obediently, and several minutes elapsed with her chattering at him, until she had found a flower-pot that interested her, and he could return his gaze to Thad. "This is Bonnie. My daughter." Rhett told him, belatedly.

Thad had stared at them during the entire interval. He would never have let the little boys from his dorm speak out of turn like that.

"How old is she?" he asked. Perhaps, she was ….merely very tall for her age, and couldn't be expected to know better.

"Two and a half," her father asserted cheerfully, confirming Thad's fears. "She's very precocious."

"I see." Thad eyed the girl's tangled hair dubiously. A Mulatto family would have died, rather than let their daughter be seen out in public like this. Neat hair was very important to them. A sign of the mother's respect for the child. As was a proper, _clean_ dress.

Bonnie, done dismantling the flowers, turned back to them. "Who're you?" She didn't wait for his answer, but kept chattering at him in an excited, high-pitched, toddler voice. Neither he nor Rhett could get a word in edgewise.

"When does she nap?" Thad asked finally, over her head.

"She doesn't nap." Bonnie, again irritated at being ignored, tugged her father's sleeves. "Daaaaddyyy!"

"Oh." Thad liked kids, but this was becoming ridiculous. He looked at the little girl, and contemplated. "When does she go to sleep?"

"Whenever I go to bed."

Thad shook his head. He had no experience with little girls, but this little hoyden couldn't be all that much different from the small boys at his school. The key was to make them very, very tired.

He bent at the knee. "Hey. How about you race your Daddy and me down the street? I bet you can't catch us!"

As expected, she had an innate competitive streak. "Can too," she said, narrowly, and started running. He chased after her. And after her. And after her. In between running, he took them over the entire Flower market, and the girls in the booths (who knew him well) made her gifts of bright flowers, and wove her a crown of blossoms, and called her a princess. Bonnie pronounced herself very well pleased with them all.

"Feed her something warm, and filling," he told his uncle, after they had chased her back to the hotel, and sat down in the restaurant by the lobby. She was trying to catch her breath, and her chattering had diminished considerably.

They weren't exactly able to hold a conversation over dinner, but at least, they could exchange a few words, and eat a bite here and there, without being called to attention.

Bonnie, who polished off a sizable portion of noodles in wine sauce with gusto, was beginning to nod off in her chair. Rhett took her in his arms, and she laid her head against his shoulders. Even as they walked up the stairs to his room, she fell asleep.

Rhett fumbled for the key, opened the door with one hand, and let them in. He laid her down gently in the only large bed in the room. He laid the discarded flowers on the side table, and hunted around for a vase in the cabinets.

"She sleeps with you?" Thad asked, surprised.

"She's afraid of the dark." Rhett had found a vase, poured in water from the pitcher, and arranged the donated blossoms into a charming bouquet, which he set down next to her. A sweet scent filled the air.

"At home, too?"

Rhett nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that a two-year old girl slept with her father.

Thad shook his head._ Nobody ever cared if I was afraid of the dark, _a childish voice inside him said. He shook the thought with resolution. He watched as Rhett tenderly undressed the little girl, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The long, curly black hair was still as tangled as ever. It was odd why his Uncle, who was obviously a skilled caregiver, would ….

His Uncle carefully folded the stained blue velvet dress, and hung it over the armrest of a chair. "She refuses to wear any dress but this one," Rhett said, in response to Thad's frown. "If I give it to housekeeping now, it'll not be dry in the morning. And then she'll…"

That explained _that_.

They sat down on the small seating group by the fireplace. It was warm, so the chimney was cold. Thad found himself wishing for the comforting crackle of a fire.

"Where is her mother?" It seemed to him that this little girl needed a mother. Badly. To teach her manners, for one. And to brush her hair, and to insist she wear clean clothes.

"She's in Atlanta," Rhett said briefly, his face closed.

"I see." If Uncle Rhett shared a room with his daughter and not his wife, his marriage was probably in bad shape. It also explained why he'd suddenly showed up, after all this time.

"Have you heard from Mother?"

"Yes." The curt monosyllable told its own tale. So they were involved again. Thad hadn't been sure.

"Give her my best," he said, evenly. He had long ceased to trouble himself with who his mother took to her bed. It was better that way.

"I will. She is expecting to come down for a few days to see you when you're off."

_Here comes another fresh round of gossip. _He shook his head. "I've been meaning to ask her to meet me on….neutral turf. I don't really care where. As long as it's not here. I could ride up to Richmond, for example. She doesn't come by much, so it shouldn't be too much trouble." He was still young enough to let a hint of irony seep into his voice.

Rhett studied him again. There was something different about the boy. He wasn't altogether sure that whatever it was, was …._.healthy_.

"I'm sure that can be worked out," he said, finally. "Thad. You seem to be doing well academically. Your last report card was excellent, and it's been months since I received a letter about you getting into some kind of fight. Or breaking windows."

"I've been ….busy. With other things."

Rhett's face became even more serious. "Thad. You're not…."

"Involved with a street gang? Smoking Opium? Drinking liquor till I pass out? No. That's for weaklings."

He saw his Uncle's lips twist again. "Is it."

"Yes." He noted that Rhett was already on his third glass of Scotch – he had already had two during dinner - and his eyes were becoming blood-shot.

"Speaking of which- you should go easy on those, Uncle Rhett. You don't look well."

"If _you _were married to my wife …." Rhett replied, jauntily, kicking back another glass.

"It's foolish to marry a woman who drives you to drink", Thad said, firmly. "No. I don't do any of that ….stuff. I've been playing piano in saloons, and making good money." He hoped his Uncle would take the bait, and be distracted. "I make enough now, to pay for my own tuition. I'll not be needing you to send me any money anymore."

"Thad," Rhett said, softly. "You don't have to do that. I don't want you spending all your time and energy in places like …..in _saloons_. I can easily afford to support you until you graduate. Concentrate on your studies. _Do_ something with your life."

"I'm not your son," Thad said, evenly. There had been nights…..too many…..when he'd dreamed that he were. He had made up a whole narrative, where his Uncle would tell him that he had lied - that_ he_ was his natural father after all. That he would legitimize him, and take him home to live with him. Just like in books. But as he'd found out, books and real life were two different things entirely. "You're not obligated to take care of me. I'll be all right on my own, now." He pushed back his curls, which had a habit of falling over his eyes. "If you do want to help, you can keep sending me books. I enjoy them, and your selections are much better than what my teachers choose for us."

"Of course I will. And I'll also keep paying the tuition." Rhett held up his hand. "No arguments – I want you to focus on school." The boy had grown, he thought, somewhat sadly, forgetting the many times he'd been annoyed in the past over little Thad's above-average penchant for scrapes. And he was ….beautiful, he realized with a start. There was really no other word for it. The milky-white complexion. The perfectly even features. Even more, perhaps, the fluid grace of his body. _Prey._

His sense of unease increased. "Are they …treating you well?" He knew better than anyone the dangers a handsome boy was exposed to in this imperfect world.

"I'm all right."

Rhett sighed, internally. He had done wrong by him ….he should have kept him with him, and damn the consequences. _No boy should have to face life without a father. _It was a sharp, brief, insight – one that he would forget again, years later. When he would leave Wade behind as well. He _just hadn't cared_ that much about his brother's son. Hadn't cared about anything before Scarlett, and now ….Bonnie.

"Be careful," he said.

From the look the boy gave him, he was too late.

~~oo~~

Thad ran all the way back to the Saloon.

"Please," he told Tasha, who was closing up for the night – or the morning. "Let me stay with you tonight."

She couldn't resist the desperation in his eyes. She pulled his dark, broken head to her chest. "Shhhhh. It will be all right," she said, her hands softly stroking the dark curls.

When his lips found hers in wild, desperate kisses, there was nothing she could do but give in.


	29. Eva

_Thank you for the kind words and insightful reviews. Several of you asked about the chapter title. Newton's second law is "force equals acceleration times mass". Thad spun himself around (acceleration), put his body weight behind his fist (mass) to create enough force to bring down an older and heavier boy. It was supposed to show he is now acting on, rather than just re-acting, to his environment. Does that make sense? Anon, who mentioned Newton's third law with regards to Thad and Rose…..you made me laugh out loud. Not yet. _

_This is for the guest who wanted "just more Thad and Rose, please." It is now Monday, around ten a.m. in our couple's universe. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them._

**Genesis 1:27**

At ten minutes to ten, Rose pulled up the white Arabian in front of the Hunting Lodge, nestled in rolling, tree-covered hills about thirty minutes away from the Main house. Thad's grey horse was already tied to one of the hooks by the wall, resting its hoofs, swatting at flies. She jumped down, tied a rope around the mare's neck, securing her beside him.

She walked inside. It was a small, comfortable two-room lodge, with a kitchen, table, and a sitting area in the main room. Through the many windows, the forest gleamed in all its ancestral mystery. Our first parents had walked through such trees, and Rose, looking around, felt a little bit like _Eva_, fashioned from the rib of Man, and thrust into a world whose purpose for her she understood only imperfectly.

"Rose." Thad was standing by the fireplace, where he had brought a small fire to life. His expression lightened when he saw her, as if he hadn't been entirely certain she would come. He was dressed in his usual garb – simply cut black trousers and white shirt, accentuating his light skin and dark curls. The heavy muscles underneath the light fabric moved as he expertly manipulated the embers.

"I know it's warm, but I'm a big believer in atmosphere," he grinned, in response to her questioning look. He sat down the iron tongues in a metal bin, and walked over to her, helping her out of her jacket, which he placed on a hook by the wall.

"I hope the neckline is high enough," Rose smirked, to cover her unease. She was wearing her black Turkish riding trousers, and a ruffled white shirt, whose long, upstanding collar went almost up to her chin, flaring out to frame her pale face.

"Perfect," he approved, after sweeping his eyes over her. "You look lovely as always."

For once, there was no noticeable undertone to his words. It was as if he had reverted back to the warm and friendly companion he had always been to her, before she had left Texas over four years ago. There were moments – many moments– when she would have given anything to return to those simpler days.

"Did you eat before you came?" Rose noticed he had set a plate of cookies on the rough oak table, as well as a jar of what looked like cider.

"I …._tried _to eat breakfast." In truth, she hadn't touched a bite since dinner, and had eaten very sparingly even then.

"Have some of these." He pushed the plate towards her, and poured her a glass of the cider.

"I ….don't think I can eat."

"Never have an important discussion on an empty stomach," Thad lectured, with a twist of his lips. "Drink the cider first." When she demurred, he laughed. "Rose. Humor me. Please." Rose reached for the cup, and grudgingly swallowed some of the sweet liquid. A pleasant warmth started to spread through her stomach. It was indeed cider ….._hard_ cider. Probably brewed during the last harvest. "Good," he encouraged. "Now eat a few bites of the cookies."

She obeyed, and realized suddenly that she was ravenous. Within minutes, she had eaten up the whole plate. "How did you guess I was starving?" she asked Thad, still chewing.

"Personal experience," he said, blandly. "I found I didn't perform well under stress on an empty stomach. I also found that, if I forced myself to drink something sweet, and eat a few bites, my appetite suddenly returned."

She laughed. "How useful."

"There's more," he said, with seeming lightness.

"More cookies, or more good advice?"

"Both." The black eyes stared at her with disconcerting intensity. He shook his head. "I can't believe that you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Pretty much anywhere else in the world." Thad stood up from the table, and motioned her to the seating group in front of the fireplace. Rose sat down in an oversized, leather armchair that nearly swallowed her small form. He took the seat across from her, next to the fire. He looked at her intently. She realized once more just how large he was - and how graceful his powerful body. It filled her with something like foreboding.

"Now that that's done - how do you want to proceed?"

"I'm not sure," she said, hesitatingly.

He looked as if he had anticipated her answer. "If you will allow me, then." He waited for her nod. "You and I are here to talk about…..us. The ground rules for the discussion are as follows: no insults, no hurled objects - ask your mother sometimes-, and we promise to hear each other out. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said, slightly annoyed that he apparently intended to run this like a business meeting. "Very ….. professional."

Thad laughed. "You haven't seen nothing yet." He pushed his unruly curls out of his eyes. "I've been running meetings for years, remember? It's always a good idea to spend almost as much time on _frame_ as on content. If not more. If you and the other party don't agree on_ what_ needs to be discussed, and _how_ it is to be discussed, you will - both end up disappointed."

Rose nodded. "I can see how that could happen." She didn't notice that his frame-setting also gave her an opportunity to settle her nerves.

He caught her lingering annoyance, but did not seem offended. "Tramples all over the romantic notions they feed you, about how this _should_ work, doesn't it? But in reality, Rosey, relationships are no different than anything else in life worth having. They doesn't just….. happen. They requires skill, experience, forethought - and….candor to be successful. And _candor_ isn't something they teach girls raised as you were. But …." his dark voice was suddenly intent, "we will need it, you and I. A lot of it. Because of the very great disparity in age, experience, and….background. Amongst ….other things."

Again, Rose felt a quiver of irritation, not realizing that what she heard as his strengths, were also his weaknesses, in equal measure. "You don't need to worry about me," she said, defensively. "Say what you like. I've seen - and heard -pretty much everything in my profession."

"Yes. That will certainly help. But you're still the product of a very sheltered upbringing, and very…. _sheltering_ parents. If anything I say makes you uncomfortable, we will try to address it as we go along. But we do need to be ….plain."

He leaned forward, and held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, she stretched out her own. A surge of warmth flooded her, as her fingers touched his. He squeezed it gently, before releasing her again. "Did I mention how thrilled I am that you're here?" he murmured, his dark voice suddenly as soft as velvet. It was an intimate voice - a voice she had never heard him use before. A voice that belonged to a lover.

She flushed raspberry red and ducked her head, all annoyance suddenly forgotten.

He seemed to catch himself, and continued in a more normal tone. "I anticipate that we won't be able to cover everything today, Rosey. Or even most things. This will be an ongoing process. But I want do you to know that no matter how difficult it may be for both of us, there is no place I would rather be, than _here_, right now. With you."

She felt unbidden tears sting behind her lids. "Me either."

"Good." He was still looking at her intently. "Do you want to go first, or should I?"

"You."

"All right." He stood up, and she could see his face became cautious again. "Why did you never write to me, Rose? Your father wrote …. your mother….even _Wade_ wrote. But you never did."

Rose stared at him. Her throat constricted. She couldn't speak.

Thad sat back down, and looked at her stricken face. With an effort, he calmed his breath. "I'm sorry, Rose. I'm getting ahead of myself already. Let's start with the fundamentals …..and go from there. All right?" She nodded. "When I was in Charleston …I thought, after our dance….that you cared for me. Was ….that true?"

She nodded again. He exhaled, as if he had still not been entirely certain. "And you …_changed_ the next day because you'd seen Cherry come out of my room, not because -you had suddenly had second thoughts?"

Rose nodded affirmative once more, still not certain if she could trust her voice. Her heart was hammering inside her chest.

He considered his options, not wanting her to freeze again. "How ….long have you known you…cared?"

She swallowed, dryly, but she was able to speak. "The last week in Galveston. When we were ….sitting by the stables that night. When you ….told me we that we'd need…._.Chaperones_ from now on. Do you remember?" He nodded. "It was then that I realized that ….." She stopped. She was not like her mother, who articulated emotions freely, as they arose in her breast, or like Thad, who seemed to regard them as something to be discussed in committee, labeled, and _managed_. Instead, she had all of her father's inherent distrust of exposing her innermost self.

"Rose. Please, say it." His dark voice was suddenly hypnotic in its intensity.

Perhaps fortunately in this case, she was still young enough to yield to a will stronger than her own. "I realized I was …..in love with you," she admitted, though somewhat defiantly. "But you acted so strangely that I … I thought….. I thought you didn't like me anymore."

He exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath. "Look at me, Rose." She lifted her head, but pride made it difficult to meet his gaze. "Do you remember the first night I found you by the Stables?"

She did remember. She cast her mind back to that night, many years ago. She had been about ….eleven.

_He had walked slowly, lost in thought, not expecting to find anyone else here at this hour. But then he saw the young girl, sitting in exactly the same spot he always sat, her head tilted back, looking at the Stars._

"_Rose?"_

_She had turned, startled. "Hi, Cousin Thad."_

"_What are you doing up at this hour?"  
_

"_I couldn't sleep," she said, with an embarrassed smile. "I saw this nice place, and I decided to come here."_

_He had sat down beside her. "How extraordinary. I often come here myself, when I can't sleep."_

"_I like to look at the stars," she confessed, shyly. "There are so many of them….and they are so far away. I think about how big the Universe is, and how…. small my problems are compared to that vastness. And… I feel better."_

"I remember."

"I'd always enjoyed spending time with you and your brothers, Rose. But that night…I knew…suddenly hearing my own thoughts so perfectly articulated by an eleven year old girl….that if you grew up to be an equally unusual _woman_ - and were walking down the aisle in a beautiful white wedding gown - I didn't want the man waiting for you at the altar to be anyone other than me."

She stared. She had not expected such a momentous confession. The silence drew out between them.

Only his changed breathing betrayed his turmoil, but he gave her a quick, reassuring smile before he continued. "So we've now established …..that we both cared, and for quite some time. That's…progress." He took another quick, short breath. "Do you ….._still_ care, Rosey?"

The huge blue eyes filled with tears. "Yes," she said softly. "I still care."

He exhaled. "God. So do I." He reached for her hand again, as if needing to ground himself. For the longest time, they simply sat there.

"More cookies?" he asked, finally, with a wavering smile.

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

He squeezed her hand. "Now that we both know how we… feel about each other, do you feel safe enough to move on to the more ….complicated issues?"

"I'm not sure," she said, honestly. Her heart started accelerating again. He was still holding her hand, and felt it tremble in his.

"Rose. Look at me."

She lifted her head, uncertainty battling defiance in her face.

"I had every opportunity to think little of your feelings for me over the last two years. I told myself that you didn't trust me. That you were …..merely _toying_ with me, when you accepted another man's proposal a day after I left. And then, after I learned of the Cherry fiasco, I thought perhaps you _had _cared, briefly, but …out of sight, out of mind. Or that my birth mattered to you after all, more than you'd let on. Because you never wrote me."

She withdrew her hand. "Thad…." she said, miserably, "I…."

"And then….. your father wrote me," he said, softly, as if he hadn't heard. He captured her fingers again, and laced them with his. She felt his pulse resound through her body, a slow, steady, rhythm. "The first letter came after you broke off your engagement with Beau. He explained what had happened with Cherry, and that you were no longer to be married. I was still so angry, and hurt….that I threw it away after reading it. The next day, when I came back to the same spot, it was still there. I took it as a sign, and retrieved it. But I wasn't ready to acknowledge that it …meant something. So I didn't write back. In fact, your father wrote me a letter every week for months, before I finally gave in, and answered him."

"Daddy….wrote you? Every week?"

"Yes. And he didn't just write. He…opened up. About so many things. His mistakes and regrets. What happened with your mother. And mine. My childhood. Yours. Thomas Whiting. It was …. ….almost _humbling_, to be given such insight into that proud man's heart. It healed wounds that …I didn't even know were still open." He pushed back his curls again. "And each one would include something about you. What you were doing. That you had mentioned me, or asked about me. Every time I told myself that I was being a fool, that I should move on…..another letter would come. And I'd get enough hope, to wait a bit longer."

"I didn't know," she said, softly. She felt like crying.

"And then….." Thad turned away from her again, releasing her hand. "After nearly two years had passed….and I'd still heard nothing from you…..I convinced myself that your father was mistaken. That you didn't care after all. That I was wasting my life waiting for a woman who could care less about me. So I ….tried moving on. I let my friends and business associates know that I was finally interested in meeting their daughters, and sisters, and cousins, that they had always been trying to match me up with. You can say that I threw myself into the Houston social scene, with gusto."

Pain flickered in her face, warring with pride. "Did you meet anyone…. special?"

"They were …..nice girls, Rose. But they were not…you." He sat down again. "Nonetheless, I might have convinced myself that one, or the other was _close enough. _To make a home with, and to give me the children I craved. But then….."

"Then what?" she asked, anxiously.

"Your mother wrote me."

"Mother wrote you, too?"

He laughed. "Yes, I was somewhat astonished myself."

"What did Mother say?"

Thad grinned. "It was a short letter. Scarlett never did have much patience for writing. But it was….weighty, despite its brevity. She wrote that she hoped I could wait for you. She wrote that…..during the flood in France….. your one fear was that you would drown before you could tell me you loved me." Rose flushed, remembering the terror and the intimacy of those hours. "Suddenly….all those other girls- didn't look interesting anymore. And the Houston social scene ….. had to do without me again."

"I didn't know," she repeated, trying in vain to process this information.

"I wish …._you_ had told me, Rosey," he said, gently.

"So do I," she said, miserably. "But….." She found once more that she couldn't speak, and drew a deep, juddering breath.

He looked at her, taking in her pale, drawn face, intuiting she was already sufficiently overwhelmed by what he had just told her. "Do you want to stop here, for now? I don't want to overload us in a single setting."

She nodded shakily.

"All right," he said, gently, standing up. "We'll pick this up when we've both had some time to process. And to think."

She nodded with a gratitude that was not entirely free of suspicion. They both stood up, and Rose realized that the time to accomplish her _other_ objective was running short.

"Thad….."

"What?"

"Now that we've…..I mean…..doesn't one normally…" she stopped herself, realizing she sounded like a bumbling schoolgirl. She tried once more. "Don't you want to…." She flushed again.

There was mirth in his eyes. "Kiss you? Of course I want to," he teased. "But in spite of your laudably high neckline, it may be a bit….. risky. After all, there's no one here but you and me."

"Please," she said, recklessly. "Do it anyways."

His eyes were suddenly alert. He lifted her chin to stare into her face. "Ah. I _suspected_ it was something other than mad desire for me, which prompted you to seek me out that night. As much as I like to flatter myself about my …. attractions, and as much as I _do_ believe that you love me, it was clearly something else that drove you into my room. What was it, Rose?"

So he knew. "I can't talk about it," she said, miserably.

He took a step back. "And you hoped that by….. taking you to my bed, I would solve that problem for you. Whatever it is."

"Perhaps." Pride battled with fear in her eyes.

"I see." Thad stepped to the table, and poured himself a glass of cider. He drank a long, draught, and set the cup back down. "We will need to talk about it at some point, Rose," he said, evenly, without looking at her. "Before we can proceed much further."

"I know. Maybe I need…more time."

He nodded, accepting her reluctance. "I love you, Rose. And I want us to work things out between us. I hope you know that."

"But couldn't you just….."

"Kiss you now?" He looked at her, and shook his head. "No, not now, Rosey. You see, I'm rather …. particular about the motivations of those that I kiss. I don't kiss girls, who want _my_ kisses merely to avoid deeper issues. Call me…._vain_."

She tossed her curls defiantly. "And which motivations are acceptable to _your Highness_? Not that I care to know."

He grinned, the whole blast of his sensuality suddenly aflame in his gaze. Her eyes widened instinctively. "I'll kiss you when you feel you'll die if I didn't, Rosey," he murmured, through half-lowered lids. "And then… "

"Conceited much?" she flared.. Like her father, she hated feeling out of control even more than the average mortal.

"Very." He smirked at her again, and apparently considered the matter closed. He grabbed her jacket from the wall, and held it out for her, to help her back in. "Follow the same path that you came. I'll wait for about fifteen minutes before I leave as well. We probably shouldn't arrive back at the house at the same time. Just in case."

They walked outside to where she had tethered her horse. She felt a strange mixture of elation and dread. Elation that he had confessed he loved her. Dread, because she had avoided talking about the most troubling issues, and because she felt almost certain _he_ had been avoiding things, as well. And, she thought glumly, _he still hadn't kissed her._

Thad boosted her onto the white mare, sending her off with a smack on the horse's rump. As Rose trotted away, she suddenly remembered she'd forgotten to ask just what he had been discussing with Charlotte at the picnic. It wasn't jealousy - she was confident both he and Charlotte harbored no more than friendly interest in each other - but she couldn't help but feel she was missing something important. Something to do with her.

She briefly considered turning the horse around, and riding back. Then she sighed. Like many other things, it would keep for now.

* * *

_Next up…..the mini Rhetts (or, to be more specific, Perry) have their eye on a girl._

_PS: Of course Thad is so ready to let Rose of the __hook here because he also has things he'd prefer to keep hidden._


	30. Titania

_Here it is. I'm sorry I took so long. With my boss back from vacation, that hour I used to have after rounds, and finishing my notes, to goof off and work on my chapters - is gone. Thanks for checking up on me! Anon, best of luck on your med entrance exam. I can honestly say it's a rough road, but worth it._

_A couple of clarifiers from the last chapter: Yes, the age difference is a bit difficult, but necessary. As you know, both Thad and Rose are variations on our favorite couple, with some things expanded, or taken to an extreme, or simply switched. I tried to mix everything up, while keeping the parameters same (roughly the same age difference as Rhett and Scarlett, only with inverted personalities.) Thad is my "Scarlett" – the child of two worlds, half peasant, half aristocrat, and also a child of trauma (for Thad, his childhood and his bastard birth, for Scarlett, the war). Both are temperamental, and sensual, even though Scarlett didn't know it about herself until much later. Thad is more self-aware, and better educated, but both become over-controlling in face of danger (which was my point in the last chapter. Thad is so frightened that his talk with Rose will spin out of control – that he will lose her, like he lost Tasha - that he tries to micro-manage it, and her, to the nth degree, just like Scarlett tries to control everything in her life so she will never be without money again)._

_Also, Thad wasn't yet "in love" with Rose when she was eleven. More like "really interesting girl. If she grows into an equally interesting woman, she might be worth waiting for." Years later, when he did fall "in love", he was all freaked out, because he still thought she was too young – having seen too many girls become involved with men too young growing up, and not wanting that for Rose, or himself._

_Since Rose is "Rhett", the age difference is the only thing keeping the balance of power right in Thad's favor right now. Barely. If she were older….heaven help him. If he does marry her, he will need all of his wits about him._

_I know I said the mini Rhetts next, but Rose insisted on emptying a water pitcher over Thad's head first (and really, can you blame her?). This is supposed to have echoes of the proposal scene (again with gender switch-up as to who does the "proposing") …and others._

_For the guests, who wanted more Rose and Thad. And for Coco B, who wanted to hear more about the nightgown. And for all of you, who gently prodded me for an update. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

_O! when she's angry she is keen and shrewd._

_She was a vixen when she went to school:_

_And though she be but little, she is fierce._

_ - Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream._

As the white horse trotted back through the forested hills, Rose became ever more thoughtful. The events of the morning were still fresh in her mind, but as the delight of Thad's declaration settled, other, more troublesome thoughts came to the fore. She slowed the mare to a walk, and, instead of taking the right path directly back to the Ranch house, she doubled back to a part of the forest she had visited so often as a child.

She rode up a hill, and then down again, and then she was there.

Here the trees were the oldest, and the densest. Even the song of the birds seemed muted, and the horse's footfall was cushioned by soft moss, and last year's leaves. The entire world seemed wrapped in a cocoon of silence. As a child, she had thought that this was a place of magic, a fairy-land, in which unicorns lived, and man was forever immortal. She pulled on the reins, and breathed, taking in that deep, hallowing repose. The white mare stood perfectly immobile, not even an ear twitching, as if she, too, were caught up in a spell.

Rose put back her head, and through the loom of the tree branches, saw fast-moving clouds far above her, en route to distant shores. The invisible stars waiting behind the Blue emptied their conch of gold over her, and she the felt their riches scatter over her body, clinging to her clothes. She was no longer a young girl, helpless before the majesty of love, nor youth cowed by age, nor naïveté dwarfed by experience. She was like the living tree itself, with roots in the red earth, and arms branching up towards the heavens. Her arms, her legs, her chest were uniquely _hers_, and yet part of a greater organism, that was always expanding, growing, breathing. She was Rose. And she was Bonnie as well, and her mother, and Ella, Ellen, and Solange Robilliard. She was so many nameless, faceless women, curving back through the path of time, merging, dividing, remerging. At the very creation of Time, she was the Dust of the Stars, and the entire universe, and God himself, at the Beginning and the End.

She would lose it again, that insight, she thought sorrowfully, as she finally turned her horse towards home. She would once again doubt her connection to the cosmos - even doubt her own reality. But perhaps, she thought more optimistically, it would return, and, one day, remain.

There was a humming in the trees, like a whisper of the wind_. Grieve not, _it seemed to say, almost sadly_. It shall return. Even for you, Titania._ But she did not heed it.

~~oo~~

The evening had been pleasant enough. They had had an excellent dinner – Charles and Chase had been very successful in providing them with fresh pheasant -, and Thad, their host, had been in an expansive, almost exuberant mood. Rhett watched him laugh and joke, and shot an occasional glance at Rose, who sat at the other end of the table. If he read her correctly – and he usually did – her own exuberance was tempered by a certain ambivalence. Belle and Charles seemed to be talking more as well, Rhett noted. In fact, Thad's exuberance seemed to cause Belle to redouble her own focus on Charles, made conversant by his success in the hunt. Rhett sighed. He would have to talk to Belle about Rose, at some point. He was not looking forward to it.

As the evening progressed, Rhett continued to take it all in – Thad's wide smiles, the not-quite surreptitious references. Had he and Scarlett been this obvious? Scarlett seemed oblivious – Belle, experience sharpened by misgivings, was not. Rhett also had some concerns about Ella. Ever since her miscarriage, her natural self-effacement had become enhanced to a worrisome degree. Rhett had never met Carreen, Scarlett's sister, but he had heard she had suffered a similar withdrawal from the world after her fiancé had died in the war. He knew Scarlett was continuing her efforts to draw out her eldest daughter, encourage her accompany her on walks, and other activities, and that there was a comforting degree of closeness between them. But he worried nonetheless about her lack of spirit – and he knew Scarlett did, as well.

When they had concluded the evening, and he was walking towards his room to join his wife, he encountered his youngest daughter, apparently waiting for him.

"Daddy!" Rose called, pulling him into the small sitting room across from his bedroom, and closing the door. She did not sit down. "The_ robe_ is gone!"

He looked at her, shaking his head. "Your mother found it."

"Oh," she said. She cocked her head to the side, looking at him, catching his thoughts as they flitted through his dark eyes. "But she didn't…"

He did not attempt to torment her further. It would have been futile, at any rate. "No. She thought it was mine. And that Minnie had placed it into the wrong trunk."

"Ah. Good." To his daughter, the subject appeared closed.

"Don't you want to ask me about the nightgown?"

"What nightgown?" Rose frowned.

"Your mother found _the nightgown_, as well."

"But my nightgown was still there." Rose seemed puzzled, then she brightened. "Oh! _Her_ nightgown! Did she find it?"

Rhett regarded her narrowly. "What nightgown did you think I meant?"

"The one I wore to Thad's room."

"Do you mean to say it wasn't….."

His daughter burst into peals of laughter. "Heavens, Daddy, no! I admit I pinched it from Mother for that purpose, because it had such a pretty box, and said_, Rue de la Paix. _ But when I opened it I knew it would never answer. It was almost….sheer. And _much_ too short."

Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Tell me about it."

She giggled. "Daddy! You thought I went to see Thad in …..that? I would never have dared."

His silence, and the twist of his lips was her answer. She laughed again. "_Poor_ Daddy. The idea! No. I wore one of my own gowns. I admit it was….very low-cut, and kind of, errrr…._form-fitting_, but it was almost down to my feet. And you couldn't _see_ through it." She giggled. "Thad was upset enough as it was. If I'd worn _that_…he probably would have died of a heart attack, on the spot!"

"I am delighted to hear you say that," her father said, dryly.

She giggled. "I did admire your taste, Daddy. Mother is a lucky woman."

"We are _not_ pursing this topic," her father told her firmly. "How did your discussion with Thad go?"

She started. "How did you know we… talked?"

"Because you and Thad returned from your ride within minutes of each other, and you both looked…. thoughtful," he answered, shaking his head. "But either way, one look at your face would have told the tale. Did you think you are the only one that can read _me_? It works both ways."

"It went….fine," she said, slowly, not debating his point. "But…." A frown marred her perfectly even forehead.

"But what?"

"I can't talk about it yet." She shook her curls with determination, and walked up to him, hugging him quickly, and firmly, much to his surprise. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered.

"What for?"

"For writing him." She stepped back, and looked up at his face, catching the surprise in his eyes. "If you hadn't…we would never have had a chance."

"It was the least I could do," he murmured, softly.

"It was much….. more than that," she murmured. "As you said, we're twin souls, you and I –so I know it must have been one of the hardest things you've ever done. We don't either of us …..open up easily." She caught her breath, and then forcibly exhaled, almost like a sob. "And you did it for _me_."

"It was about time I did something for _you_, wouldn't you say?"

She laughed under tears. "I won't argue with you." She remembered how often, since they had moved from Galveston, he had attempted to explain how he felt – how he tried to answer her questions honestly, and without evasions. She suddenly realized she had failed to return the favor. She took a deep breath. "I was _irritated_."

"Irritated?"

"At Thad," she explained. "He told me he loved me, but I was _irritated _by the way he went about it." Rhett laughed, and she continued, "I'm even more irritated that I didn't know _why_ I was irritated. Until much later. And that I couldn't tell him." She shook her curls. "I felt that he didn't really _listen_ to me at all. He didn't consider there might be another side to what happened with us over the last few years."

"I understand. Thad can be …..overbearing. But you will have to let him know how you feel, Rose. During the bad times, I resented your mother for so many things….but I failed to give her a chance to correct them, until it was almost too late. Silent resentment is …..deadly."

Her big blue eyes were looking at him. "Thanks, Daddy. I'm sure I will, eventually." She smiled, and seemed somewhat lighter. "Sleep well."

As she left the room, he was filled with something like foreboding. "Too much like me," he thought. "It is a _curse_." He walked slowly back towards the bedroom. "At _least_ she wore a different nightgown."

He quickly closed his bedroom door behind him, eager to rejoin his wife.

~~oo~~

It was long past midnight, but Rose could not sleep. She tiptoed down the quiet hallway into the library, where a low fire still burned. She saw the crystal gleam of the brandy decanter on the sideboard. Rose picked it up. She had never drunk alcohol, but she remembered some of her patients telling her they used Brandy for sleep. Perhaps it would work for her, as well, this once. She picked up a fresh glass, and poured herself a liberal helping, unsure how much she needed to consume to make herself tired.

She swirled the amber liquid around, admiring the rich reddish-brown tones the low firelight brought out. Finally, she brought it to her lips, tasting. It was sweet, and not unpleasant. She took another sip. And then another. A pleasant warmth began to pool in the pit of her stomach, and seep through her limbs. She took another sip. Before she knew it, she had drained the entire glass. She waited for a few minutes, and did indeed fell a little drowsy. It seemed to be working.

On her way back to her room, Rose felt curiously light-headed. She noticed she was not quite steady on her feet. She wondered at herself, but in an odd, detached manner. "How strange I feel!" she thought. There was a spinning sensation to the world, as if it were juddering on its axis on its journey through space. She stopped, and suddenly felt like …._skipping_. She had not expected that. She made a couple of hops into the air, but skipping was no longer as simple as she remembered. She felt irritation mounting within her. When she reached her room, she sat down. The irritation intensified. "I'm _angry_," she thought to herself. She didn't quite remember what she was angry about. Then she remembered. She was angry at _Thad_. That was it. She had to show him how angry she was.

She looked around, and her eyes fell on the large water pitcher on the table next to her bed. Slowly, she rose, and picked it up between both hands. "Wrapper," a single, unintoxicated neuron whispered, and she sat the pitcher back down. She grabbed a simple, white wrapper with a blue velvet trim, and even managed to hook up some of the eyelets, even if not quite in the right order. Then, satisfied with her work, she grabbed the full pitcher again. It was heavy.

She made a wavering path through the hallways, occasionally stopping to ponder where she was. More through luck than accuracy, she finally made her way in front of Thad's room. Briefly, the adrenaline surge sobered her, and she managed to open the door, and slip inside noiselessly, still balancing the pitcher.

As the first time when she had thus visited him, he was laying on his back, his right arm flung out. This time, she allowed her eyes to study him, lingering on the muscular chest, the matted, dark hair, and the expanse of his abdomen that the coverlet left bare. Had he been awake, he might have seen a very different look briefly battling the irritation in her eyes.

Her mind briefly flashed to the events of the day, and of the past _years,_ and the irritation surged back, tenfold. She moved forward with determination, and unceremoniously dumped the content of the pitcher over his head, jumping backwards at the same time. She almost fell, but managed to steady herself against the wall.

As the last time, he snapped up. Only this time, there was no Rose within reach to throttle. Instead, rivulets of water ran over his dark hair, dripping down his chest, and onto the white sheets.

"Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes searching the semi-darkness, and latching onto Rose holding the pitcher. "What the _hell _do you think you're doing?"

"It wasn't an _object_," she said, reasonably if drunkenly. "It was….._water_." Her voice sounded slightly slurred.

His eyes narrowed. "Rose. Are you….drunk?"

"Not _very much_," she assured him, helpfully. He looked very funny, and she stifled a giggle.

He sighed, stood up, and surveyed the damage. Rose was mildly disappointed - apparently, their last nightly encounter had prompted him to go to bed in pajama bottoms. "My entire bed's soaked," he muttered. He smoothed back his wet curls with both hands. Then he turned back to Rose.

"You desssserved it," Rose announced, still standing in the middle of the room. "You were a…cad." She set the pitcher on the side table, and placed her hands on her hips.

He ran his hand through his wet hair, seeming resigned. "I was a cad?"

"Yessir!" she announced, seating herself on his large armchair, and dangling her legs. Then, as if an afterthought, she added, "_You_ never wrote to me either, you know."

"_I_ never wrote to you?" If he was surprised at the sudden non-sequitur, his voice did not show it.

She nodded. "All this time!" Her fingers poked holes in the air in his direction. "And when I was first in Charleston. And I wrote annn…..wrrrrote! You. You…never answered me. And I'd….done nothing then!" She nodded again, confirming. " You see -you were ….a _cad_."

She got up, and made a few elegant (she thought) dance moves into his room.

"A cad, a cad a cad a cad! He was a cad, and he was had!" She smiled brightly, looking pleased with herself. "That _rhymes_," she added, thoughtfully.

His lips twisted. "Remind me to keep you away from …..what was it you got into, Rose?"

"Brrrrandy," she announced, rolling the r on her tongue. "Brandy, Mandy, Dandy!" She giggled. "That rhymes, too. But it makes _no sense_."

"Rose." He shook his head. "We should talk when you…."

"But we should talk _now_," she said, in a suddenly high-pitched voice. "You never let me get a word in edgewise, Mr. High-and-Mighty. _You_ know how everything works, don't you. Tell me - where does your expertise come from, Mr. Know-it-all?" She paused again, surveying him like a school mistress would a particularly slow student. "If you _really_ knew everything, you'd have written me."

He frowned. "I'm not going to argue with someone who's drunk."

"Hah!" she announced. "But you never argue at! all! You just _tell_ people how they feel! Not only how they feel now, but how they _will_ feel! Because you know….everything!" She smiled at him with fake brightness.

"Rose….."

"Did you ever stop to think that I was waiting?"

"Waiting?"

"Waiting," she repeated. "Word! Ing-form. _Acting_ verb. You see….waiting is an…..action, too!"

"Rose. You're making no sense again," he said, calmly.

"I know!" she agreed, cheerfully. She twirled around again, and almost fell. He reached out his hand to steady her, a swift shadow by her side. His hand remained at her waist.

They stared at each other. "I was _afraid_, you see," she said, softly. He bent his head, their floating curls mingling into a dark cloud. Under the cover of that shadowy sky, she poked him in the stomach with her finger. "You're going to kiss me now, Thhhhad. It's your….punishlent. _Punishment_."

He drew back. "Rose."

"Be _quiet_," she told him, firmly. In the semi-darkness, she reached up her small hands, and placed him on either side of his cheeks. She pulled on his head, trying to bring him down to her level. It was like attempting to move a tree trunk.

"Come _down_ …..or I'll scream," she said, threateningly. "Then you're mother will come and I'll be….combomised. _Compromised._ And you'll have to marry me." When he still didn't move, she made good on her threat, and let out a blood-curdling scream, head tilted back wolf-style.

"Rose!" He clamped his hand down firmly on her mouth.

"Ummmmmm!" she protested, squirming her face from his grasp. "Whatsso terrible a…bout kissing me, anyways? Anyone would think you don't find me ….._tractive_."

"Keep your voice down, Rose."

"I'm going to be as LOUD AS I LIKE!"

"_Rose_!"

There was a knock on the door.

"Thad?" came Belle's voice. "Is everything alright?"

"See what you did," Thad hissed at her, clearly livid.

She looked chastened. "What do we _do_?"

His brain, not under the influence of intoxicants, worked faster. "Under the bed."

"But I don't _want_ to," she pouted, like a petulant child.

"Thad!" the voice came again.

"I'm all right mother," he called. He grabbed Rose, and shoved her under the bed, none too tenderly.

"I heard screams," Belle called, suspiciously, her voice muffled by the oak door. "I'm coming in."

"No," he called. But the door opened relentlessly.

Belle stepped inside, looking around distrustfully. She wore a voluminous, pink wrapper, overloaded with lace and flowers. Her reddish-white hair attempted to escape from its cap. "What _happened_ in here?"

Under the bed, Rose heard Thad's nonchalant voice answer her. "I … dropped a water pitcher."

"On your _bed_? Everything is wet, including you! Let me ring for Trish…"

"No thank you, mother. Please don't wake up Trish at this hour. I can handle it."

"But…"

"I said I can handle it." His voice could turn _icy_ when his will was thwarted, Rose thought, and almost said so out loud. She stopped herself just in time.

"Go back to sleep, mother."

Belle looked around the room one more time, unconvinced, but obedient. She was disappointed when he not only opened the door for her, but stepped out into the hallway to watch her until she had disappeared into her own room - not even giving her the chance to press her ear against the door.

"Can I come out now?" Rose called, when he stepped back inside.

"Yes. But keep your voice down."

She rolled herself out. "Dust….mites." She brushed the sleeve of her wrapper energetically. "Servants always forget to sweep under the bed." She hiccupped, and looked embarrassed.

Her black curls were a tangled mess around her head. In her dusty white wrapper, incorrectly buttoned, her flushed face, and her floating hair she was a sight. Thad laughed, in spite of himself. "You're never… boring, Rosey. I will say that for you." He shook his head at her. "Would have served you right, had mother found us, and you'd find yourself wed to me."

She ducked her head. "I never wanted anything else." The drunken feeling was gone, and the light-headedness was back.

He seemed to sway. "Rosey." And suddenly, she was in his arms, and smiling up at him. "I'm _not_ dying yet," she murmured, with the last remnants of her defiance, as he lowered his lips.

The moonlight hid the expression in his eyes. "It counts if _I_ feel like I'd die, if I don't kiss you." Then, suddenly, his lips claimed hers.

The first thing Rose noticed was the softness. It was a pleasing sensation, and she pressed her lips up against his to feel it again. He bent her over his left arm, and leisurely explored her lips, with playful little nips, and gentle, brushing strokes, encouraging her wordlessly to explore his as well. It _felt_ awkward, being this close to someone, this exposed – but it felt awkward on a level her fogged brain was no longer processing, so she managed to concentrate on discovering ways to brush her lips against his, and making nips of her own. Why had no one had ever told her a man's lips could be this….. soft? She tried intensifying the pressure. Now she could not only feel him, but taste him as well, which, as she discovered, was much more intoxicating than even the brandy.

"Hmmmmm", made Rose, a soft, humming sound of satisfaction in the back of her throat. Instinctively, she arched her body against his, clumsily attempting to coax him to part his lips for her, seeking to taste him deeper. She felt the same rush of _connection_ to something greater than herself, that she had felt earlier in the forest. It rushed through her body, heated her blood. Thad must have felt it as well. His arms tightened, and his lips were suddenly no longer playful. They were hard and insistent, parting hers, seeking and finding her tongue, sending tremors down her spine, and panic into her mind. She stiffened, and attempted to pull away.

He drew a deep breath, and released her. She could see the struggle in his face, as centuries of civilization fought against much older instincts. Had she not been so tipsy, she might have been terrified.

Civilization won. They stared at each other. Thad looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm ….sorry, Rose. I should have taken my own advice, and …"

"No scientific explanation, please," Rose murmured. "You'd be much nicer if you could admit the situation just got away from you, for once."

He laughed, the tense moment broken. "The situation got away from me, for once."

"See? It's not so hard," Rose nodded, approvingly. "Maybe I better go? Maybe we can talk more tomorrow."

"Yes. Maybe you'd better." He was still looking at her, softly. "Your first kiss?"

She blushed. "Yes."

"I hope it didn't disappoint."

"It was ….nice."

He laughed. "Nice? My vanity. It agonizes. It faints." He grinned at her. "Maybe you'll give me a chance to improve upon …_nice_, sometime."

"Maybe." Her mother's brows arched into her father's crescents, but she could not prevent a blush from creeping up her neck. She wondered about this power she had briefly wielded, which was now firmly _his_ again. "Sorry about your bed," she offered, as an afterthought.

"It's quite all right," he said, politely, but his eyes were dancing. "As you correctly pointed out ….it was only water." He brushed his knuckle over her cheek. "Let me check the hallway, first. I rather suspect my mother of laying in wait for whoever comes out."

She giggled. "She thinks I have designs upon your virtue."

He grinned. "How right she is." He bent forward quickly, and brushed his lips against hers.

_"And bonny Rose and sometimes Rose the curst;"_ he quoted,

_"But Rose, the prettiest Rose in Christendom_

_Rose of Rose Hall, my super-dainty Rose,_

_For dainties are all Roses, and therefore, Rose_

_Take this of me, Rose of my consolatio_n.

"I am _not_ a shrew," Rose admonished.

"Did you or did you not toss water over my head?" He poked his head into the corridor, and looked around. "All clear, it seems. Now run. We will talk more tomorrow."

"Bossy again," she said, archly. She held the door, and turned to look at him again. "It's lucky you kiss ...nicely."

She caught the expression his face, and smothered giggles all the way back to her room.


	31. Now and Then

_Thank you for your reviews and your insights. They are so much appreciated! The next chapter is for the several guests, for Chris OHB, for LMS, for WiwitDM – all of whom wanted to read more about the boys (the twins are around thirteen years here, Gerry is about eleven). I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"We're lost again," Gerry asserted, with finality.

"No, we're not!" Perry insisted. "The town is east of the main house, and we're _walking _east. We're bound to stumble across it. Sooner or later."

"We _were_ walking east. Before we took this so-called _short cut_ of yours." Gerry found a fallen tree-trunk, and sat himself down. The undergrowth was dense in the subtropical clime, and difficult for hiking off the beaten trails. Their light, ankle-high leather shoes were also not ideal for brambles. "I'm not going anywhere anymore. We shoulda had someone drive us in the buggy. Or at least asked Cousin Thad how to get there." He placed his mother's square chin on her small, sturdy hands, and pronounced, _ex cathedra_: "This was a dumb idea to begin with."

Perry shook his head obstinately. "Just this _one_ more hill, Gerry," he coaxed. He did not want to admit that he, too, was becoming disheartened. "I'm sure we can see the town once we're over the crest."

Dan, who had been silently studying his surroundings, and the position of the sun, now weighed in. "I think Perry's right."

Gerry sighed. Dan was a slightly more trustworthy navigator than their elder brother. "All right. _One more hill_. If we can't see the town from there, you two can do whatever you like, but _I'm_ going home."

He was rewarded by a wide pirate's grin, uncannily like his father's.

When they had crossed the crest, they could see the trees lighten, and the town lay sprawling below them.

"You see?" Perry called, triumphantly.

Gerry snorted, hiding his relief. "_Now_ what do we do?"

"We go to the Bakery, and ask for her."

His younger brother, no longer burdened down with thoughts of camp-outs in the company of rattlesnakes and alligators, looked at him with some derision. "She probably doesn't even remember you."

Perry chose not dignify that remark with an answer. They scrambled quickly down to the foot of the hill, heedless of cloying brambles, and slowly started walking down Main Street. A couple of ox carts passed them, loaded with wood. The boys were unaware that they attracted a fair amount of attention, and some surreptitious whispers. In this part of the country, hardy farmers eked out a meager living, and some independent business men owned stores and sold their wares, but most labor was connected, in some way or another, to the cattle ranches.

"Here it is," Perry announced, stopping before a two-story wood building, with "Griffin's Bakery" sprawled across a large sign with chipped, white letters.

"Well, go in then, and ask for her," Gerry said. The establishment did not seem overly busy at this time of day. If indeed at any. When_ he_ took over his mother's stores, he wouldn't allow the paint to chip like this. Or the windows to be so streaky.

"Ummmm…well…" Perry mumbled.

"_What_?"

"She doesn't actually _know_ me."

Gerry threw his brother a look of disgust. "What do you mean?"

"I've never ….well…you know…._.talked_ to her."

"Oh my," Gerry said, shaking his head. "You mean you've dragged us here all this way to…."

"I just wanted to see her again," Perry admitted, somewhat glumly. "When I stayed here by myself two years ago, I'd watch her in Church every Sunday, when she'd sing with Cousin Thad." He looked at his brothers, animation returning to his voice. "Don't you remember her? She has hair like…. sunshine. And a voice like an _angel_."

The other two thought back.

"She looked kinda scrawny to me," Gerry pronounced, judiciously.

"Maybe she's in the house," Dan offered, advanced age making him somewhat more sympathetic to his brother's plight. They had walked around the house to the back of the property. Dan lifted his green eyes to the second story, presumably where the baker and his family lived. "We could climb up there, and look into her window."

Gerry's pragmatic streak far outdistanced that of the twins. "You don't even know which one is hers."

Perry's eyes gleamed at the thought of such daring adventure in the quest of a fair lady. It was so much better in life, than in books. "We could climb up the balcony, and look in, until we see her." He felt sure the strawberry blonde girl would appreciate his audacity.

Gerry sighed. "What if her mother catches you? Or her father?"

"They'll be up front, in the bakery. Working."

"And _she'l__l_ be in school."

"You're just a spoilsport," his brother admonished. He had already grabbed an overhanging branch of a near-by cherry tree, and started to shimmy up to the second story balcony.

"You'll fall and break your neck," his brother prophesized cheerfully.

Perry, who had climbed trees in the Galveston Orchard since graduating from infancy, merely snorted. With the agility of a monkey, he swung himself over the balustrade, and triumphantly stared down at the two boys below. "See? Nothing to it."

He then turned his back to them, and proceeded to look into the windows.

"See anything?" Dan called, from below, craning his neck.

"Nothing yet," came the reply, muffled from pressing his nose against the glass.

Suddenly, there was the touch of cold metal at the back of Dan's neck. Dan gave a yelp as he recognized it for what it was – the muzzle of a double-barreled shotgun. Perry and Gerry froze.

"Just what do you boys think you're doing?" said a man's voice. Two pairs of bright green eyes stared at him in horror. "Stealing, from the looks of you," the man continued. "You boys're Mr. Watling's relations, are you not? I would have expected better of the likes of you."

"We weren't _s__tealing_," Gerry replied, with what dignity the situation afforded.

"Oh?" The man did not remove the muzzle of the shotgun from Dan's neck. "And what, pray, _were_ you up to, then?"

"Well…."

"Out with it!" He gave Dan a light shove for emphasis.

Perry unfroze, and leaned over the balustrade. "Please, Sir," he called down, "don't shoot my brothers! It was all my fault."

"Sure seems like it," the man agreed. "If you behave like grown-ups, nothing will happen ter you. You, up there - come down, and we can talk."

Perry, although paler than usual, nodded. "I will. Please don't hurt them!"

He skimmed down the tree again, and stood bravely before his accuser.

"So - what was this all about?" The voice was still stern.

"Well …..Sir…" Perry drew a deep breath. "You are the baker, are you not?"

"Last time I checked, I was." The man lowered his gun, and held out his hand. Perhaps he had remembered how unwise it could be to frighten a rancher's family members for too long, or too much - no matter how justified one believes oneself to be. "Mr. Griffin, at your service, boys."

Perry took it, and shook it vigorously. "I….seen your daughter in Church. The one who sings with our cousin. I just wanted to …. _talk_ to her."

Understanding dawned on the man's face, and he grinned broadly. "Is that all? Where you come from, don't your folks teach you this ain't the way to be introduced to a girl?"

"We didn't exactly ….._ask_ them before we came," Perry admitted.

"Appears not," the Baker agreed, amiably. "Which one're you?"

"Peregrine Butler. You can call me Perry. Sir. "

"Well, Mr. Peregrine, our Stella is in school now, as she should be. If your mother brings you and your brothers by our place Sunday afternoon, you'll find her and her siblings ready to receive you for tea. You can all have a fun party, and talk like civilized folks." He winked at the boys. "That's how _we_ do those things around here."

There was profound relief on Perry's face. _Stella, _he thought. "Thank you, Sir."

"Now off with you, before your folks worry."

"Yes, Sir."

The three boys scrambled off. The man looked after them, a hint of speculation in his eyes. His daughter was not what most people would call pretty, but she sang nicely, and her mother was the town's schoolmarm, which gave their children some social standing in addition to his. The baker had occasionally allowed himself to dream, that in a few years, his daughter's undisputed musical talents would attract the attention of Thad Watling as more than just a soloist. _This_, however, was even better. It would be an even greater mismatch, the baker acknowledged, but a daughter of his wasn't _entirely_ ineligible even for the likes of a Mr. Peregrine Butler from Charleston. Or rather, for the likes of the man that boy would one day become. If his interest persisted, Stella might have a chance at a much more glamorous future than her father would have ever been able to provide for her.

Not to mention the boost it would give his own, and his wife's, reputation, should _Scarlett Butler _actually stoop to visit his house with her sons.

Mr. Griffin walked back to the bakery, determined to do everything in his power to encourage the acquaintance.

~~oo~~

"Rose is in bed with a headache," Scarlett announced to her husband. "Which is very strange, because she _never_ has the headache! She wanted to come for breakfast, but she looked so ill that I told her to lay back down."

Rhett eyed her speculatively. "Did you."

"Yes," Scarlett affirmed, nodding vigorously. "I'll have the maid bring her some tea, and perhaps some soup later on! And I have no idea where the boys are. I assume they're out playing with that frightful pig again! But in the meantime, I was hoping you would accompany me on a walk." She dimpled charmingly, and cast down her thick, black lashes. "The weather is so nice, you see, and I did want to talk to you badly!"

Her husband needed no further prompting. "It will be entirely my pleasure, Mrs. Butler."

He helped his wife into a light, green overcoat, and they stepped outside. The May air was mild, and the morning sun bright, and fresh. There was a narrow pathway between the horse pastures, and they slowly walked past a group of mares, contently grazing with their foals. The cattle pastures stretched further back into the horizon, encased by sturdy, wooden fences. There was an aromatic scent in the air - cedar posts, dried for a year, Thad had told them, made of the high-quality local cedars which withstood even the wet weather of East Texas without rotting. Calving had also ended for the season, and the cows could be heard in the distance, calling to their young.

Scarlett, her arm linked securely through Rhett's, seemed to blossom like a flower in the fresh country air. "It's all very different from Tara," she mused. "And it's been an unusually dry May, for which I'm grateful! The rain in late Spring and early Summer I can't say I've ever liked. But it feels like home to me, more than our house in Charleston ever did." She cast a glance at him, as if trying to discern whether this slight upon his hometown offended him. But he merely laughed.

"It wasn't I who wanted to return there," he reminded her. "Even now, but for Wade and his family, there is nothing to hold us."

Scarlett nodded. "If it works out between Rose and Thad….."

"I think it will," her husband asserted easily. "She's loved him ever since she was a girl, and he's waited around long enough for her to grow up. They would be foolish to give up on each other now."

"You and I were plenty foolish," Scarlett reminded him, with a blush. "For much longer than that." She shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the unwelcome memories. "And Belle…." Scarlett sighed. "You may very well tell me my imagination is running away with me, but sometimes I think she doesn't _like_ our Rose!"

From the other side of the fence, a brown yearling stretched out its long, soft nose, hoping for a carrot, or perhaps for dried apples. Scarlett scratched him apologetically behind his long ears. "Sorry, my friend. I should have thought to bring you something." She often fed him treats on her walks with Rhett, or with Ella.

"What makes you believe Belle doesn't like her?" Rhett enquired, curiously. He had not thought that Scarlett had noticed the antipathy.

"Oh, just the way she looks at her sometimes. And when I speculate about Thad and Rose getting married, she never seems all that happy!" Scarlett shook her head, her earrings dancing becomingly. "I don't quite understand it ….it's not like Thad could hope to marry someone _better_ than Rose! In fact, I can't imagine anyone else like us permitting their daughter to marry someone like him. Not only is he illegitimate, but …well, you know!"

"Yes," Rhett said, dryly. "I know. And _Thad_ knows, even better than we do, even if Rose does not. And you're quite right, at least when it comes to the South. And perhaps that is part of the problem. Belle may not want Thad's wife to be quite as much her social superior. Someone she feels may despise her, and try to alienate her son from her."

"But Rose would never…."

"You and I know that. However, Belle might not."

Scarlett shook her head in bewilderment. "It is very strange!" It was unimaginable to her that someone might not delight in acquiring such a daughter-in-law as Rose - who was, after all, the living embodiment of her own girlhood. She suddenly changed track. "And do you know what else Belle told me, Rhett?"

He stopped again, and looked into eyes the color of depthless, green water. "What, my dear?"

Scarlett blushed. "I honestly don't even remember how this came up! I really try not to talk to Belle about her former occupation, especially because it reminds me of things I'd rather not think about!" At her husband's sudden look of discomfort, she quickly added, "no, darling, not because of …that! Believe me or not, I understand that you only went to her because I was horrid to you - and it wasn't her fault that she loved you, way back then. It was all so very long ago. And everything is so different between you and me now, thankfully!" She cast him a look that, after all this time, still took his breath away. "No, we were talking about Thad….and the murder…and how we had finally caught Elsa, and Thomas, and how difficult it was to find a suspect, even for the police. Well, she mentioned _Ashley_ being there that night, and she told me that he was an unlucky fellow, to become a murder suspect the first and only time he had ever entered her establishment!"

Rhett said nothing.

"Why did you lie to me?" Scarlett asked. Her tone was not angry, or even accusatory. "I distinctly remember _you_ telling me Ashley had been a regular client at – well, _that place_, even before Melly's death!"

He sighed. "What does it matter, now?"

"Not much," she acknowledged, with a strange little smile. "I just …..want to know."

His gaze followed the flight of the swallows into the azure sky. She waited, with a patience only long years of marriage to Rhett Butler can provide.

"You and I…..were at a difficult…..a very _fragile_ stage of our reconciliation," he said, finally. "I had …almost…..convinced myself to try again, but I was still very unsure. About my own feelings…..about yours….and whether I could trust, first and last, that the not-so-honorable Ashley Wilkes had really disappeared forever from your heart and mind, as you'd asserted." Scarlett listened, but remained silent. Another useful talent that decades of matrimony had taught her. "So to put it bluntly - I lied," he continued. "I hadn't planned it, but once it was out, I didn't feel like taking it back. Perhaps," he added slowly, and candidly, "perhaps some part of me hoped it would discredit him further in your eyes.'

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "You told me not to … _judge him too harshly_. Or something like that."

He grinned, wryly. "To make him look even worse…and myself, magnanimous, I'm afraid."

Scarlett shook her head. "_Men_," she ejaculated to the universe at large."I haven't given Ashley a second thought since Melly's death, and very rarely even before." At her husband's look of disbelief, she clarified, "at least after…..well, _you know_. After the night of …..the birthday party, it's really only ever been _you_ on my mind. But honestly, it's _always_ only been you. I was just..." she sighed, "so young, and too blind to see it." She gave the arm she was holding a tight squeeze, and briefly laid her head against his shoulder. Had he been able to see her face, he might have caught the look he had searched for in his twenty-three year old bride, but never found - bashful, tender, and full of wonder.

Rhett returned the squeeze with interest. "Yes, I do know that now," he said, with gratitude, resting his chin on her hair. "And look – it barely took us _thirty years_ to get here."

"I hope Rose and Thad won't take quite that long," his wife laughed, shaking her head again.

"They come from stubborn stock," Rhett grinned, pulling her in for a kiss, obviously relieved that his confession about Ashley had been met with no explosion of Scarlett's still fiery temper.

"How is Ella?" he asked a few minutes later, determined to leave Ashley Wilkes behind them once and for all.

Scarlett, whose hair was perhaps slightly more rumpled than at the outset of their walk, easily allowed herself to be distracted. "She really worries me! She just seems to become - thinner and thinner. I've asked Rose yesterday if she can recommend any medicine, but she says science has yet to develop a cure for a broken heart." She shook her head. "I hope it's not true …that Ella's _heart_ is broken, I mean! But it sure seems like it, at times. Rose said to attempt to distract her, and take her out as much as possible, which we have all been trying, but….."

"She took the loss of the baby very hard," Rhett agreed, thoughtfully.

Scarlett nodded in full agreement. "I hope they have another one, soon!"

Her husband did not enlighten her that Chase, Ella's husband, had cornered him in the Charleston mansion one evening many moons ago - asking for help with the procurement of preventatives.

"I can't put Ella through this agony again," Chase had asserted. "After the flood …..I spoke to Rose about it, what with her being a doctor, and devilishly uncomfortable it was to do so! But at least, Rose is family. I wanted to know if she thought Ella and I should continue to have ….separate beds." The young man had flushed fiercely, but continued bravely, "She educated me about our ….options, that I'd had no idea about. But she said to procure the… I would have to talk to my father… or, if I thought he would be of no use, to you, seeing that you're Ella's father, as well."

"It may be a long time before they have another," Rhett now told his wife. "Maybe it will never happen for them."

"I hope not," his wife said, softly. "I have a feeling that nothing will help her, but having another child." He cast her a glance, and she added thoughtfully, "like having Rose has helped us. After we lost Bonnie." He drew her close, but did not answer.

Arm in arm, they continued, touching only on mundane topics for the remainder of their walk. Far overhead, a hawk sailed by, gliding on the currents of the wind.

~~oo~~

Tradition had a long name for him - one of the _Isɬopotilka_, the medicine people. There were other, even longer, titles, which he had inherited upon the death of his teacher. But to his people, he was still simply known as _Okla_ – the Friend. He walked slowly down the streets, conscious of the looks the townspeople gave him – part derision, part fear. Some merely looked away, others went to far as to cross to the other side of the street, spitting into the red dust as he approached.

When he entered the telegraph office, the lanky, tanned boy behind the counter looked up, and gave him a friendly smile. It was like that with some people, who could look beyond all outward trappings of color or status, to the person beneath. But they were rare, and far between. It had been so with Thad Watling, to the blessing of his tribe. And the pale, dark-haired girl he had brought with him that day, who had tried, but not quite succeeded, to lay aside the prejudices of her times, but who had still offered them her skills.

_Aissihatka_, the white man's medicine. That he was determined to understand better.

"Nothing today," the other boy said, apologetically.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Okla replied, in his soft, perfectly articulated English.

He turned, and walked slowly back down the street to the Reservation. Almost at the end of the town, he passed a blonde woman, heavy with child, whom he recognized. He regarded her surreptitiously as she passed. She walked briskly despite her condition, as oblivious to him as she was to the rest of her surroundings. Her face was hard, and closed.

"_Imintaniska_," he thought, in the language of his fathers. "Fear." And then another thought rose, unbidden, to his mind."_Iⁿhollo_" - "Dangerous."

* * *

_My apologies to the Alabama tribe for murdering their tenses, and their singulars. Re: Ashley, it took me quite a looong time to tie up that particular loose end, did it not? But I finally got to it. :)_

_Unless the plot dervishes intervene again, next up: the Bad Old Days between Rhett & Rose._


	32. The Price of Joy

_Thank you, lovely readers, for your thoughts, reviews, prompts and insights. This is such a wonderful, intelligent fandom. I learn something new every day._

_For AnnaPanang, for WiwitDM, for ChrisOHB, and for the guests who wanted a Rose-Rhett flashback!_

_Warning: dark content ahead!_

* * *

"You're going to get into so much trouble," Ella told her, a horrified expression on her docile young face. The two sisters were sitting in one of the elegantly furnished guest rooms of Thad's Houston town house, which he had offered for the use of Wade's family as they came to town for their son's wedding. Thad had, perhaps, been as surprised as anyone when Rhett accepted.

"So what," Rose now said, sitting on the day bed with the delicate embroidered coverlet, a dress flung over her knees. Her nimble fingers were engaged in taking up the hem. It was a lovely blue dress, a castaway of Ella's, that Rose had painstakingly adjusted to fit her own, much smaller frame. It was in perfect condition, as Ella was always very careful of her clothes.

"Daddy will…."

"I don't care what _he_ thinks." The look on the face of the eight-year old was harsh, and cold. Her sister, already fully dressed, squirmed uncomfortably. Her ivory tulle dress befitted a maiden of her status, but off-white was not her best color, Rose decided, after a critical glance. Autumn tones – warm browns, dark mossy greens, soft oranges - suited her sister's complexion better.

Ella sighed. She was sixteen years of age, and her heart shaped face and reddish curls were not displeasing to look at, but she would never be beautiful. Yet she moved with an odd, composed grace, that would have put her elders in mind of Melanie Wilkes. It sprung from the same loving heart, and the same serene mind, unfettered by dark or ambivalent thoughts.

"But Daddy _loves_ you, darling," she now said, sweetly, her gentle nature unable to grasp the complexity of the underground guerilla war between her adopted father and Rose. It did not consist of words, and rarely even of visible outbursts. It was a war of omission, and of silence.

Her younger sister, whose pristine, even features heralded future beauty, smiled with derision. "And Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny will visit us for the Fourth of July." She gave the hem another determined stitch, and continued, "you _know_ he's never cared a whit about me."

"Rose!" Ella cried, horrified, bringing her palms to her flaming cheeks. "You mustn't _say_ such things." As with most girls of her generation, disrespecting her elders felt akin to sacrilege.

"Why not? Cousin Thad says I can say whatever I like - as long as it's true."

Ella sighed again, dropping her hands back into her lap. She was happy her younger sister had such support in their cousin, but she feared, at times, that they stoked each other's antagonism for their father.

"They might become mad at _me_," Ella murmured, almost cleverly, in what amounted to a last, desperate attempt to make her sister reconsider. "After all, it was _my_ dress."

That had the effect of making Rose look up, and for a brief moment, Ella allowed herself to hope she had dissuaded her sister from her plan. But then Rose shook her head. "No. He'd never blame _you_." Which was true enough. Rhett was as protective of, and tender with, his adopted daughter as he was cool with Rose.

Ella exhaled. Perhaps their father wouldn't mind so much, she tried to console herself. After all, it all happened such a long time ago. Rhett never spoke about Bonnie. And he had three sons now, in addition to his stepchildren, and Rose. Ella had only very vague memories of Bonnie; memories that were intertwined in rather unjust and troubling ways with their life in Atlanta, and all of its associated sorrow. Had she been more discriminating, she might have attempted to excise her sister's image from its surrounding grief, to which it did not, in reality, belong. As it was, Bonnie's small form stood encased with Rhett's drunken rages, and Scarlett's vocal, visible unhappiness. It stood with the sensation of being bereft and abandoned, by her maternal friend, and then by the man she loved as a father. It stood by loneliness, and fear.

Ella's sweet nature had covered up that time as in a blanket of snowflakes, but there remained a nagging feeling, more instinct than analysis, of having left a small ghost behind - unacknowledged, unremembered, and alone in the dark.

Ella now shook her head with determination, attempting to push the morose thoughts away - to think, instead, of the cousin that had arrived a mere few days ago from Charleston. _Chase Thornton_. She had not dared to say much to him, but he had smiled at her, and it had not made her nervous, in the way it usually did when boys attempted to pay attention to her.

He was …. _nice to look at_, Ella decided. He reminded her of Wade, with his soft brown hair and brown eyes. She wished, suddenly, that he lived closer. She wished to see more of him.

"There," Rose said, placing the final few stitches, and surveying her handiwork with a grim satisfaction. She held the dress against her body. "Now help me put it on."

Ella, used to being ruled by wills stronger than her own, rose glumly to comply.

~~oo~~

Rose timed her entrance perfectly, when everyone had already assembled in the hallway to await the arrival of the carriages that would take them to the Church. She slowly descended down the wide staircase, her thick, black hair parted in the middle, cascading down her back like a priestess' veil. Sunshine fell through the high windows above the front door, and bathed her lithe little figure in an otherworldly light. The blue velvet fabric caught her eyes, and made them sparkle like sapphires.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd. Rose was as the living embodiment of the life-sized portrait of Bonnie that hung above the fireplace in Rhett's library in Galveston. Scarlett wanted to cry out, but no sound emerged from her suddenly constricted throat. Rose paused dramatically on the landing, her defiant eyes seeking out her father. It was clear that she did not expect him to make a scene in front of so many people.

Merely a heartbeat later, he had proved her wrong. The vulgar curse that escaped his lips cut like a whiplash through the assembly, and with a few steps, he bound up the stairs to the landing. His strong, cruel brown hands gripped the back of Rose's dress, and tore it apart in an irresistible, sheering motion. The ripped fabric fell on the steps, and started to slide down the stairs. Its long sleeves dragged behind, like the falling body of a child. It came to rest in a pool at the bottom of the stairs with barely a ripple. The red sash remained on the last step, like a deep stain of blood.

Another groan went through the crowd. This time, it was akin to a sob.

Rose, whose face had become even more colorless, remained mute, as if her voice had flowed from her with her dress. Her exposed underclothes seemed to enhance the pallor in her skin, relieved only by two bright red spots on her cheeks.

She finally turned around, as if with an immense effort, and walked slowly back up the stairs. Her narrow shoulders quivered, as if she were bearing a crushing weight.

Thad, who had appeared at the top of the staircase, took in the scene from above. Rose's face. Rhett's own visage, filled with regret and horror at his own impulsive actions. Thad wordlessly swept the little girl into his arms. Over the top of her curls, his hostile black orbs made contact with her father's. _Another one of us you have betrayed. _Then he turned, and walked back into the hallway to her room.

Scarlett, who had been frozen to her spot, suddenly found her voice. "Oh Rhett," she cried, senselessly. He was still standing motionlessly where Rose had left him, in the middle of the stairs. James had walked up to join him, talking softly to him in a low voice.

"Mother," Wade said, helplessly. He was the epitome of the handsome bridegroom in his dark suit, his starched white shirt, and his gleaming, soft brown eyes. _The happiest day of his life_, Scarlett thought disjointedly. That thought propelled her into action as nothing else had. She quickly bound up the stairs, up to her still immobile husband.

"Take him to his room," she told James, softly, giving her husband's arm a light tug for emphasis. He stared at her with unseeing eyes, but allowed himself to be propelled forward. James walked beside him into the upper hallway. James would take care of Rhett, Scarlett told herself. Thad had taken Rose to her room, and would calm her down better than anyone else could.

Now for the others. She sprung back down the stairs, her sense of purpose adding lightness to her steps. She first addressed her son, who stood quietly, awaiting his orders.

"Wade ….take Ella and Chase and Uncle Henry and Aunt Emma and go with the first carriage. It won't do for you to be late at the Church. The rest of us will be there shortly." Her eyes fell on Rhett's nephew. He was shy, but seemed perfectly sensible. Uncle Henry was getting on in the years, but his wife was a resolute woman, and could be trusted to hold things together.

"Don't worry, my dear," Emma Hamilton said, gently. "We will get them all to the Church safely." She knew nothing but death would prevent her husband from watching the last male of the Hamiltons be married today, a day he had long anticipated with glee.

Scarlett smiled gratefully at them. She watched the first group leave, clearing the entryway of people. The Walkers would bring Phoebe to the Church from her uncle's townhouse. Thankfully, they all still had plenty of time.

The two Fontaines, and Belle Watling, had remained behind. Belle was dressed in a simple brown dress, her reddish-white hair piled up in curls on her head. "What do you need us to do?" Jane Fontaine asked softly. Belle nodded her support. Even though she had retired from her former profession, she was still much too shy to speak up around respectable people.

Tony merely looked sad, and helpless. Joseph, their six-year old son, clung to his mother's skirts, attempting to hide his head. They had adopted him from an orphanage as a two-year old, along with his infant sister, who had remained behind with her nanny. Joseph was still uncomfortable letting Jane out of his sight, as if fearing she, too might vanish one day, like his biological mother.

Scarlett exhaled. "Thank you." The Fontaines had become close friends ever since their move to Galveston. "Belle – if you would be an angel and check on the boys for me?" Belle smiled, and quickly turned to go to the nursery. She adored her son's little cousins, although she did not get on quite as well with Rose. "And Jane - we had promised to pick up Wade's partner and his wife with one of our carriages. It would help if you and Tony could go pick them up, while I settle down Rhett, and get Rose into a new dress." She added, disjointedly, "I'm almost glad the Wilkes couldn't make it due to India's illness, because what a mess that would have been, on top of everything!"

Tony put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Rhett doesn't doubt your affection, Scarlett."

She smiled at him, gratefully. "I just wish…."

His hand tightened. "I know. So do we. Now go to him, and calm him down. It won't do to have him fall apart before the ceremony. We'll pick up Wade's partner. Jim knows the address, yes?" At Scarlett's nod, he prodded her gently up the stairs.

~~oo~~

In the safety of the guest room, Rose had began to sob.

"It's all right," Thad murmured, holding her close, petting her damp wild curls like a puppy's fur.

"I _hate_ him," she whispered, passionately, against his chest. "I hate him more than I hate anyone."

"I know," he said, evenly. He made a sound, almost like a laugh. "I'm not terribly fond of your father myself." He took out a handkerchief. "Blow your nose like a good girl."

She blew, audibly.

"Was it a blue dress?" He tucked an errant curls behind her ears. He had been too late to see more than the corpse of its former glory.

"Yes," she said, defiantly.

Thad shook his head. Perhaps the one lone, remaining connection between his uncle and himself was their shared understanding of crippling loss. "You _did_ know how he felt about you in blue dresses, silly."

Rose stiffened. "Not _you_, too."

Thad sighed. "I'm not trying to make excuses for him. Goodness knows he's treated you abominably enough in the past. But ….."

"I hate _her_, too," Rose whispered, passionately. There was no one else she could have admitted it to, but him.

"She _was_ a bit of a brat," he smiled, into her curls.

Rose felt a sudden, unexpected jealousy. She sat up in his lap. "_You_ knew her?"

"Your father came to visit me with her, once. In ….in New Orleans. It was a long time ago. She couldn't have been more than ….two. Two and a half at the most."

"_Did_ she look like me?" There was a frown between her brows. "I mean, I've seen the portrait Daddy has in the library, but that was painted after she died, from photographs, so….."

Thad stared at her for the longest time, as if debating how to answer. Finally, he nodded. "She did look like you. Very much so."

Rose climbed off his lap, and sat down at the vanity, pulling a brush through her curls in a furious motion. Thad merely watched, but did not comment. "Maybe I should cut off all my hair," she mumbled, finally. She tried to imagine her head without the floating dark cloud. Would she be someone else? Someone her father might like?

"It's not the hair," he told her. "In actuality, _your_ hair is more like mine. Hers was ….dark and curly, as well, but not as tightly curled as ours. It's the face, more than anything." He looked thoughtful, as if still trying to trace an elusive memory over a decade into the past.

Rose grabbled a pot of lip color, and started smearing the dark stain all over her face.

Thad again did not comment, but merely watched her in silence. He, too, had grown up feeling a need for masks.

When she turned to him, her face was as red as blood. She looked at him defiantly. "Aren't you going to tell me to stop?"

There was a bitter twist to his lips. "_I_ have my father's face." There was no need to say more. Charles Butler had declined the invitation to Wade's wedding on a polite pretext, that had everything to do with avoiding his bastard son, and fooled no one. His sister, too, had declined, but she at least had sent her son Chase to be Wade's best man.

A brief knock, and the determined step of Scarlett entering the room.

"Rose," her mother called, obviously shocked. She glanced at Thad, whose serene countenance told her her daughter was in fact not bleeding. "Are you all right?"

"Lip color," Thad assured her, calmly. They exchanged a strange half-smile, at once conspiratorial and resigned, that fanned Rose's jealousy again.

"Wipe that stuff off your face, Rose, love," Scarlett said, softly. She handed her a towel from the vanity.

Rose turned her chin to the side, refusing to look at her. Her sister's memory suddenly seemed like the lesser threat for her cousin's affection. But when Thad picked up the towel, and started to clean her face, she submitted without further protest.

Once more ivory-skinned, she watched her mother dig through her dresses, and hold up a pale yellow gown.

"Not that one," Rose said. "The pink and white one, with the little rose buds."

Not even jealousy would entice her to submit to the wrong dress.

"Thad, can you help her get ready? We have to leave in a few minutes," Scarlett said, after she had pulled out the desired gown.

"Of course, Aunt Scarlett." There was a hint of irony in his tone, that Rose caught, and resented, because it seemed intimate, and spoke of an entire history between them, that she was not part of. She pulled on Thad's sleeve, wanting his attention back on her. "Help me!"

Her mother patted her head distractedly, her mind clearly on other things. "Come down when you're dressed." She did not know that her preoccupation went a long way to reassure Rose that all was safe. Thad picked up the dress, and did his best to cheer her while assisting her to pull it over her head. By the time her mother had left the room, she was smiling again.

~~oo~~

After checking on Rose, Scarlett went to the guest room Thad had allotted to them. Rhett was sitting in the arm-chair by the window. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the view over Houston it would have afforded.

"You shouldn't have done that," his wife told him, into the cool, dark room.

He did not answer.

"She's _your_ daughter too," Scarlett tried again, heedlessly. The one, indelible stain on her happiness, this antipathy between father and daughter.

"I do love her," he said, heavily. "I would lay down my life for hers. She's just… such a …very different girl from….."

The name hung unspoken in the air.

Scarlett shook her head with determination. "Rhett," she said, urgently. "The relationship you had with Bonnie was ….well…..it was what it was, because of you and me. _We_ didn't get along, so you focused all your love on her. Now that we've reconciled, it wasn't likely it would be the same with …Rose."

"She's just not very ….friendly. Or….likable." He did not tell her how difficult it was to see that cynical, condemning face, with the exact same features of that other, happy, adoring one.

"She isn't friendly to _you_, you mean."

He did not dispute her. "To me."

"You ….you can charm anyone. Why not her?"

"I've tried. She's very…..difficult to get close to." It would have taken more discerning eyes than Scarlett's to decipher the emotions flashing through his eyes. He himself would have been able to name them, had he ever cared to shine the light of his ruthless self-analysis on this part of his soul. But he had always chosen not to.

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "We don't have time right now," she said briskly. "We've got to get going, or we'll be late for Wade's wedding, and the poor boy has been patient enough with our quirks over the years! I'll thank you to pull yourself together, Rhett Butler, and don't make things into more of a muddle than they already are! Thank goodness the Walkers weren't here to see it. Whatever would they have thought of us?"

He accepted the rebuke, and her hand, in silence. Together, they walked out of the room.

~~oo~~

Only ten minuted later, Rose walked down the stairs once again, clinging to Thad's hand. Her parents, the servants, and Belle were waiting for them below. When she caught sight of her father, Rose flushed. Rhett flinched. The white-and-pink dress she was now wearing made her look even younger than the blue velvet had done, and the fierceness of her innocence was a rebuke to his memories, and to his sense of righteousness. Rose hid her head against Thad's arm, shielding her gaze. Uncle and Nephew gazed at each other levelly. It was, perhaps, to Thad's credit that he did not appear to gloat.

Rhett was surprised at the sudden, primitive possessiveness that flooded over him, the desire to rip that trusting, childish hand out of Thad's, and pull his daughter to his side. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Scarlett had felt, during most of Bonnie's existence on this earth. And, in the wake of possessiveness, surged regret. She had never rebuked him for depriving her of three whole months of her daughter's short life. As she probably should have done.

Scarlett scowled at all of them. "Shall we go?"

She was right, he thought. _Now was not the time._ If it ever would be.

~~oo~~

Much later that night, he was spending a last few moments alone with his step-son in the library.

Wade slapped him lightly on the shoulders. "Turned out to be a good ceremony, after all." There was no condemnation in his tone for the man who had almost ruined his wedding day.

"You're a much better man than I, Wade," Rhett said, heavily. He did not know that for Wade, the vision of Phoebe in her white wedding gown haloed even the agony of the morning. Had he wanted to, Rhett could have compiled a long list of the many ways he had let the boy down during the course of his young life, starting with abandoning him and his mother outside of Rough and Ready. But there was nothing but gratitude in the gentle brown eyes for the only father he could remember.

Wade wordlessly poured him a glass of Scotch, and handed it to him. "Don't worry about that. I just wish you and Rose….."

His stepfather took the glass gratefully. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm sure Thad is filling her head with all kinds of nonsense about me," Rhett replied, with some acidity. _Like I did with Bonnie._

Wade laid his head to the side. "I doubt it. Thad never spoils them, or lets them get away with…well…_anything_. They're much better behaved at the Ranch than they are anywhere else. She'd never have dared to pull off a scene like this, in his house, under normal circumstances."

"It's no relief, that my daughter listens to Thad more than she does me." He took a deep sip from his glass. "But enough about me. This is _your_ wedding night. Why are you down here with _me_, anyways?"

Wade laughed, and blushed. "Phoebe has asked for some time to….get ready." The newlyweds would stay overnight in the private wing of the townhouse that Thad used for visiting business partners, and leave for their honeymoon tomorrow. It was obvious that nothing, not even the drama of the day, could affect Wade's delight in the prospect of the new life he and his young bride were about to embark on.

The memories flashed again, pure and painful.

_He had carried her, whimsically, over the threshold of their hotel room. _

"_Put me down," she had said, imperiously, but laughter was in her voice. He had had such high hopes for that night. Perhaps it was his own fault, that, in the end, it had meant nothing. That it had not laid a groundwork for ever-growing intimacy between them, as he had dreamed. Instead, it had heralded a most damaging pattern. He had held himself back, and she had merely endured his attentions as she believed a wife must. And neither of them had found a way to deviate from that protocol over the weeks and months that followed. Until….._

Seeing Wade's flushed face, he thought of Scarlett, waiting for him upstairs, and sent a prayer of gratitude that things were so different between them now. Over the last nine years, he had learned what it meant to be in a happy marriage – something he had never believed he would live to see. And how he reveled in it.

He smiled, suddenly. "I know you will treat her well," he said, with genuine affection. "She's a lucky girl."

"I'm the lucky man," Wade said, with fervor. He looked up with a look of giddy delight. "I guess I should…..uhhh….go now."

Rhett laughed. "I guess you should."

He watched the boy's – no, the young man's – retreating form, and remained in the library for a few more silent minutes. He raised his head to see Thad enter.

"If you've come to berate me, Scarlett already beat you to it," he said, heavily. "I know what I did was wrong. But seeing her like this….in that dress….."

"For once, I wasn't going to say anything," Thad replied, in his dark voice. "I was trying to imagine a little girl that looked and dressed just like Tasha, and I could see myself reacting in a similarly – unhelpful- way."

"Tasha wasn't your _daughter_." Rhett did not know himself what caused him to lash out, except, perhaps, the memory of his daughter's hand in her cousin's, all the while glaring at _him. _

What warmth and understanding had been in Thad's voice fled before this cool repudiation of the kinship of their grief.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, harshly. "She's _dead_. She would be alive today if she had never met me. Would have grown up to marry, have children, grow old…..and _I_ robbed her of all of that, in my misguided self-indulgence, in the name of what I called... love. I _badgered _Tasha into loving me. Into running away with me. And now she's dead." He drew a shaky breath. "And seeing her dead in my arms wasn't even the worst day of my life. The worst day was when I had to step in front of her mother and father, and tell them that I _killed their daughter_. That she was buried in Atlanta, in a small, humble grave. That she had not even had the funeral with all the ceremony and honors she deserved. All because of me."

"I'm sorry," Rhett said, softly. There was nothing more to say.

"Yes," Thad said, his voice cold again. "Don't ever dare to tell me I don't know what it's like to …." He seemed at loss for words. He quickly turned, and walked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Left behind, Rhett sighed once more. He had hoped it would be a joyful day - he had, in fact, accepted Thad's proposal in the hopes that the occasion might bring them closer, and serve as a chance to heal old hurts. And now ...he was further from his goal than ever before, both with Rose and with Thad. And he had no one but himself to blame.

He set down the glass on the sideboard with a thump. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hold Scarlett, to feel her warmth. To inhale the fragnant scent of her hair. He ached almost physically for her closeness.

Without even a backward glance, he strode from the room.

* * *

A/N: I know that, in many ways, this is a hard chapter to read. Rhett (although acting impulsively, and regretting it immediately afterwards) really screws up big-time here.


	33. Children of the Spring

_Thank you, dear readers, for your willingness to roll with me on that last chapter. I know it must have been difficult to read – it was certainly difficult to write. If I have a theme for this sequel sequel, it is probably that of redemption – R&S 's redemption as a couple, certainly, but perhaps, even more Rhett's own redemption as a character. I blame much of R&S initial difficulties on his deficits. I've had several wonderful discussions with some of you over pms, with regards to Rhett's special brand of selfish love – which he calls "immoderate love" in the carriage ride in the fog with Rose. His love, (which he feared does damage to everyone he loves) certainly had that element of "too much" in his dealings with first Scarlett and then Bonnie, but also that element of wanting to get something out of it - be loved and adored in return, rather than make the beloved happy. Selfish love. He had to learn that loving unselfishly and vulnerably does not do damage - in fact, quite the opposite. Over the years, he was able to learn that through his new relationship with Scarlett, and even more slowly, over time, with Rose. The *key* to his redemption were the Thad letters – he does something extremely uncomfortable for himself, for no other reason than to help Rose. And in the process of wanting to heal Rose, he also heals Thad, and ultimately himself ….which is how unselfish love works. Through a domino effect._

_For LMS, for HelenSES, for darthripley and for the guests that wanted more of Charlotte. For Amaranthe and LMS, and DianaMary who wanted more Charles and Belle (there is only a sneak peek here, but more of them to come. I promise). For LMS, gbella, Francisca Olivia, and Parijaan, who wanted more Rose and Thad, for AnnaPanag, who likes R&T kissing scenes, and for WiwitDM who wanted to hear more about how their relationship evolved. For LMS, who wanted to read more about Perry's pursuit of Stella. For Firth'sDarcy, who wanted to hear about Scarlett's reaction to the news that she's invited to tea at the Baker's. (Frankly, that thought cracked me up as well.)_

_JS – forgot to answer your question from a few pages back. Yes, I do love all kinds of literature, from all over the world. My escape, when medicine gets a little bit too harsh._

* * *

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,

Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,

First pledge of blithesome May,

Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold,

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they

An Eldorado in the grass have found,

Which not the rich earth's ample round

May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me

_Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be._

_-James Russel Lowell, "To the Dandelion"_

A particularly annoying blackbird awoke Charlotte at the crack of dawn. She yawned, scrunched up her face, and glanced at the carriage clock on the bedside table. About twenty minutes to seven. She cuddled herself back into the sheets, which were as soft as silk to the skin. She did not know that years of scratchy, lice-infested blankets in cold dorm rooms had given their host a decided preference for fine linen, which he had liberally distributed amongst the house's many guest rooms. She made a feeble attempt to go back to sleep, but the feathered fiend's _chirp chirp _continued to pound on her head, making further rest impossible.

She scowled in the direction of the window, trying to imagine what _blackbird in crème sauce_ would taste like_. _Then she sat up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. There was a sweet scent in the air, wafting from the vases full of fresh flowers in the room, which Belle herself personally cut and arranged every morning.

Charlotte threw on a grey wrapper, and opened her door. She felt the coolness of the oak floor under her bare feet, contrasting pleasantly with the rising warmth of the May morning. Despite the ubiquity of Texas blackbirds, Charlotte found herself hoping Rose would marry Thad as quickly as possible, and invite _her _over often.

She had only taken a few steps before she froze in her tracks.

Another door in the long hallway had opened – the door to the room assigned to Charles Butler. But it was not her uncle who now stepped out, and almost collided with her.

"_Excuse me_," Charlotte mumbled, her face nearly as red as the remaining streaks of color in Belle's hair.

Belle's mouth opened, and her hand flew to her lips in horror. Her pink-and white wrapper was carelessly buttoned, as if it had been redone recently, and in haste. Her thick tresses cascaded in liberal, untidy waves about her shoulders. For endless seconds, the two women stared at each other. There was no social protocol for such situations as these, leaving them both completely at loss for words. Suddenly, Belle turned, and strode stiffly down the hallway.

Charlotte stared after her. It was simply _too much_ to keep to herself. Almost instantly, she turned on her heels, and burst into Rose's room.

"Rose! Wake up!" she said, in the loudest whisper she could manage. "You'll _never _guess what happened." She looked around as she spoke, confirming that their cousin had allotted the most _impressive_ guest-room to his beloved. The large, curved windows faced towards the front of the Ranch, affording a liberal view over the pastures, and the blue-green hills in the distance. The warm mesquite wood furniture caught the morning sun, and contrasted nicely with the elegant ivory bed-sheets, and the finely-woven, cream-colored rugs on the floor.

On the other hand, Charlotte noted, there were no fresh flowers.

"Owwww," came a muffled sound from underneath the pillows. "My _head_."

"What's wrong with your head?" Charlotte wanted to know. Her younger cousin pulled herself into a seated position, her dark curls forming a tangled web around her face. Rose blinked several times as Charlotte sat herself down beside her.

"Don't ask," Rose said, wincing, holding her cheeks with both hands. "And don't speak so …._loudly_, Charlotte. _Please_."

"Sorry," Charlotte offered cheerfully, flopping herself backwards on the bed. The motion elicited another feeble moan from Rose. "But I _had_ to come tell you what I saw!"

Rose resigned herself with a sigh. "_What_ did you see?"

"Thad's mother," Charlotte said, dramatically, pushing herself up again.

"She lives here, I believe," Rose muttered, dryly.

"…_coming out of Uncle Charles' room_!"

That had the desired effect. Rose's bluebell eyes opened wide, her headache momentarily forgotten. "Really!"

Charlotte nodded, vigorously. "Do you think….." She started to giggle. "_Uncle Charles_, of all people! He's nothing but a fusty old….."

Rose nodded. "I _know_. The idea!" They grinned at each other, with all the ruthlessness of youth.

Charlotte sat up all the way, pulling up her knees, and hugging them. She vaguely felt just how much insecurity, and inexperience, was hidden under all their bravado. "I wonder what it's like to …."

Rose frowned, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.

Charlotte, as usual, was impervious to hints. "To …..you know….kiss a boy."

"Hmmm," said Rose, hoping it would come out sounding like "I _really_ have no idea!" But alas - it didn't.

Charlotte laid her head to the side, and regarded her cousin keenly. "Have _you_ ever…." When Rose didn't answer, she squealed, "You _have_! Who? Was it Cousin Thad? Do tell!"

Rose remained mute. "It _was_ him," Charlotte ascertained, gleefully, and somewhat enviously. "And you didn't _tell_ me! What was it _like_?" She tried to push away the ignominy of being three-and-twenty years old, and never once kissed.

Rose tried to remember the kiss, and discovered that her aching brain had stored only fleeting images. "I don't remember too much of it," she murmured, somewhat regretfully.

"You don't _remember_?" Charlotte repeated, aghast. "Is he ….. _such_ a bad kisser?"

"No…well…I don't think so," Rose confessed. "It ….well…..you see….I'd drank some brandy last night. Because I …couldn't sleep."

"Brandy?" Charlotte, whose brain was unfortunately not at all hampered by hangover, pieced together the information Rose let slip with lamentable rapidity. "And what do you mean, _last night_? Do you mean you….oh!"

"Nothing happened," Rose said, wincing at her own alcohol-induced stupor. If this ever got out, her father would kill her. If her mother didn't get to her first. "We just….kissed."

Charlotte's eyes were as big as saucers. "So this did happen…..last night? Where? In your room?"

"Well….." Rose moaned. "Owwww." She remembered the water pitcher, and the conversation that had led up to the kiss. She resolved never to touch brandy again. As long as she lived.

"_Wow_," Charlotte remarked. It was too much to take in. Uncle Charles and Belle. And now, Rose and Thad. She needed time to process. "Go back to sleep," she said, finally. "We can….. talk later."

Rose nodded. "All right." She watched Charlotte leave, much slower and more thoughtful than when she had arrived. Rose shook her head in wonder. Apparently, after checking on Thad, Belle Watling had somehow ended up in Uncle Charles' room. If her head weren't killing her, curiosity would have.

With a groan, she fell back on her pillow.

~~oo~~

Thad cornered Scarlett in the sitting-room, where she was enjoying a few solitary minutes without her offspring, taking her tea. She offered the pot to him, but he declined.

"I only drink tea I made for myself. The maids always let it steep too long." He sat down on the settee across from her nonetheless, and smiled.

Scarlett raised her brows. She was not fooled. He was going to ask her for something - something he believed she would disapprove of. She had raised enough boys to know the signs. "Then why are you here? Merely for the pleasure of my company?"

"Something like that," he told her, easily. "I'd like to ask your permission to take Rose and Charlotte to Houston for a few days."

"What?" Scarlett replied, aghast. "To Houston? Just you and …..them? Thad! The _idea_!"

"Not _just me and them_," Thad smirked with obvious amusement. "I intend to take Ella along, as well. As their Chaperone."

"_Ella_?!"

"Yes. _Ella_. Your _married,_ eldest daughter. Who will serve most admirably in that capacity."

"But…._Ella_…" Scarlett looked at Thad, really seeing him for the first time without the prism of nephew, of younger brother – seeing him, simply, as a man. And what she saw frightened her. He was the same age as Rhett had been, when he had courted her during - and after- the war. The same powerful physique. The same effortless, sensual grace. But what was perhaps most troubling of all, the same bland, unreadable mien. She suddenly realized she had no idea how Thad treated women he was involved with romantically. Or if Rose would be safe in his care.

Thad gently tugged on a long strand of her hair, the simple gesture recalling, but not restoring, the easy, familial camaraderie between them. "Scarlett. Dear, lovely Auntie Scarlett." When she scowled at him, he grinned, as if acknowledging the validity of her fears. "In your own way, you're quite right. Ella _couldn't_ protect Rose from me. But then again, _you_ couldn't protect Rose from me, either. Even her father couldn't. The only person that can protect Rose from me is …me. And I have been protecting her from myself for the last ….oh…_five years_, give or take." There was a strange solemnity in his gaze that would have frightened Scarlett had she seen it, despite the superficially reassuring words. "Whatever you may believe, I have no intention of stopping now."

Scarlett flushed. She wasn't accustomed to such frank speech. "Will you….."

"Marry her?" he asked, softly. His dark eyes regarded her keenly. "Would you mind if I did?"

"N…..o", she said, hesitatingly. "I wouldn't. Nor would Rhett. But…."

The black eyes continued to hold her, perhaps to weigh her. She neither flinched, nor looked away. Finally, he nodded. "Yes. If she'll have me."

"There's very little doubt about _that_," Scarlett replied, with sudden animation. "And if you don't treat my little girl like the precious Princess she is, you won't have to worry about Rhett coming after you. You'll have _me _to deal with, Thad Watling!"

He grinned, faintly, but his eyes remained grave. "If Rose stoops to wed me, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure she has no cause to regret her decision."

"I didn't mean it like _that_, you idiot", Scarlett said, shaking her head at him. "Oh, I don't deny I had all sorts of grand plans for her once, but I'm glad they didn't come to pass. Had she married one of the sons of Charleston's _Ton_, we'd have been trapped in that stuffy place forever, and I now know that would never have answered!" She wondered, briefly, if she should confess she had once actively opposed the match, but decided she had done her penance in writing her letter.

Apparently, his thoughts were meandering down similar paths. "I've never thanked you properly for enlightening me with regards to Rose's thoughts in France. It was …very informative. And it has much to do with where we are today. Wherever …._here_ is."

She smiled, and took another deep sip of her tea. "I'm glad." Picking up the discarded strand of their conversation, she continued, "But - why Houston? And why don't we just _all _go?"

"First and foremost, because it will be Rose's nineteenth birthday in two days, and I've been wanting to show her around my city. Second, because the Harpers are giving a ball, which will be one of the major social events of the month. Third, I want to introduce Rose to my friends, and…." he smiled enigmatically, "there's a certain gentleman of my acquaintance I want Charlotte to meet."

"But why _Ella_? I mean, why Ella, by herself?" Scarlett asked, still not at all convinced of the scheme.

"Because Ella is not …_…_well, Scarlett. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that." Scarlett flinched, but nodded. Unlike her husband, she had never been one to run from unpleasant realities. "She'd be in a different environment. A change of scenery, if you will. And she'd be given responsibility, for her younger cousin and sister. It would show you have confidence in her. And you know the three of them will have much more fun without you, or my mother, hanging around. It will do them all good."

"Well….", Scarlett said dubiously. His finer psychological points about the benefits of being _trusted _had floated straight over her head. But she did appreciate his wanting to promote Charlotte's interests, and the wisdom of Ella's being distracted, if only because Rose had mentioned something similar to her in the past. "All right," she finally agreed, rather heavily. "Who _is_ the young man? The one you hope to introduce to Charlotte?"

"Wait and find out," Thad said, with an enigmatic chuckle, as if enjoying a private joke.

~~oo~~

Rose was in the stable, dreamily currying the white Arabian's mane, when Thad found her. The stable was deserted except for the two of them.

"How's the head?" he asked. The mare swished her tail, but quickly lost interest when she discovered he had brought with him neither apples, nor carrots.

"Better," Rose laughed. "But I don't think I'll be drinking brandy again, anytime soon."

"Probably not," he agreed, pushing open the stable door, and closing it behind him.

Rose could feel her cheeks flush at his proximity. He leaned back against the wall, studying her. "I have some news, which I hope you'll not find unpleasant. I asked your mother if I could take you, and Charlotte, and Ella to Houston with me tomorrow morning. She agreed."

"Take us to Houston?"

"There's a ball later that night," he said. "And I thought we might check how our patients are doing. The Native girl, and the baby."

"Oh," she said, a dazed expression on her face at the thought of spending so much time with him.

Thad made a noise that was almost a groan. "Don't look at me like that," he said, huskily. "It makes me want to do all sorts of indecent things to you. Things that I know I'll regret."

When she merely smiled at this threat, and lifted her face, he pulled her roughly into his arms. "I was afraid of this," he muttered, as he started kissing her.

"Afraid of what?" she murmured, against his lips.

"That I wouldn't be able to stop, once I start touching you."

Within seconds, Rose perceived that last night's kiss had been merely a prelude – a deliberate attempt not to frighten her. _This_ kiss….was something else entirely. Thankfully, she was apparently not required to do anything, but hold still. His assault on her lips, and, as the kiss deepened, on the velvety inside of her mouth, made her head spin even more than the brandy had done. It almost made her forget that she felt awkward, and inexperienced, and nervous. Almost - but not quite.

"We need to stop. Now," Thad murmured, all the while tightening his grip on the nape of her neck. Rose felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief when he finally pulled himself away.

"Let's ...go for a walk," he suggested, after he had taken several deep breaths. "I don't exactly trust myself to behave at the moment."

She laughed shakily, but allowed herself to be ushered out of the stable.

He led her around to the back, to the small trail that lead into the hills. She looked at their spot at the back of the stable wall, where they had so often gazed at the stars, and talked.

"Do you remember when we sat here?" she asked, softly. "That night, just before I left for Charleston?"

He smirked slightly. "Don't remind me. If I recall correctly, I was sweating blood that night."

She laughed in astonishment. "You did? I had _no_ idea. You gave me a pretty speech about being too old now, to be alone with any men except for my brothers and father - but all I heard is that I must have done something wrong, and you no longer wished to spend time with me."

"Imagine the surprise of finding that your fourteen-year-old companion suddenly has a body like a woman."

She looked at him with half-raised eyebrows, and nodded. "I understand. That would have been …...disconcerting."

"_Disconcerting_ isn't quite a strong enough word, Rose," Thad said, dryly. They were slowly wandering along a narrow path between several small horse pastures.

He could see the uncertainty in her smile, and stopped, so he was facing her. He grabbed a hold of the top bar of the wooden fence as if to steady himself. "Listen, Rosey," he murmured. "Seeing you so grown up, all of a sudden, was …. a bit of a shock to me, and I needed….. more time. Time to process my own reactions, and better prepare what I would say to you. That's all."

She leaned her back against the fence, not looking at him. "_Would_ you have said anything?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and she was sure he would ignore her question. Then he sighed, the tip of his leather boot digging into the dust next to clusters of dandelions. "Why pretend? As you know all too well, my own mother owned a famous bordello in Atlanta for many years. What you perhaps _don't_ know is that I played piano in saloons since the age of thirteen. Amongst prostitutes who tousled my hair, and chatted with me about their most bizarre clients. And the Mulatto community amongst which I moved wasn't exactly prudish when it came to matters of the body. Or ...relations between men and women."

He paused, raised his eyes, and watched the conflicting emotions play over her face – embarrassment, curiosity - but not, as he had feared, revulsion. "I've seen …..everything during those years, Rosey," he continued, slowly, his gaze fixed once more on the yellow dandelions at his feet. "It wasn't …an _easy_ time, but I came out of it with a very firm understanding of my own boundaries, and what I did, and did not, want in my life. I had every intention of marrying you when you were old enough. But I had also anticipated there would be some difficult years for us, where you'd be physically a woman, but emotionally still a child - and that I would have to guard you, and myself - from any crossed wires. "

She listened carefully as he continued. "One of the most…..regrettable things I saw as a young boy were girls who were introduced to …. _relationships_ too early. Often out of economic necessity, but not infrequently because they fancied themselves in love. While two fumbling fourteen-year-olds can probably not do too much damage to each other, there was nothing but darkness down that path for you and me. I couldn't do that to you, Rosey. I couldn't do it to myself. Can you understand that?"

She nodded, slowly.

"I'd intended to discuss it with you…..explain the need for chaperones, and why becoming a woman also means redefining your relationships to the men in your life. What I _didn't_ expect is that your mother would whisk you off to Charleston before I'd have a chance to talk to you again." He smiled, but there was no mirth in his face. "I suspected your parents would not be much help. In fact, I've never understood how a man of your father's ….experience could pander to your mother's squeamishness in these matters. Virginal innocence may have its charms, but for all practical purposes, ignorance only leads to misunderstandings. And, as in most other areas of life - chimeras breed in the shadows cast by the absence of information."

Rose nodded again, thoughtfully. "You spent a lot of time with Mother at some point. Before I was born. In Colorado."

"Yes. A whole summer, in fact. I was ….heavens ….seventeen." His dark curls danced in the breeze as he shook his head. "Your mother must have been about twenty-eight. Twenty-nine at the most."

"What was she like?"

He thought for a moment. "Charming. Incredibly brave. Broken. At once very young, and very old for her age." He smiled at the memory of the fierce young woman who had battled illness, and heartbreak, and love lost, and emerged victorious in the end. "We spent a lot of time together, while your father was in Galveston, setting up the house. She was vivacious, and amusing. With a unique perspective on life. But she was also….. terribly naïve, even compared to the standards of her time. It mystified me - because she'd been through so much already. Not to mention having been married thrice." He looked at Rose. "It wasn't _my_ place to do so, but your father should have enlightened her. Preferably right after they married. Perhaps even before. Yes, it wasn't _the thing,_ but he rarely ever worried about propriety. Being more … open with her, might have saved him a lot of grief."

She smirked. "Such a discussion takes self-awareness, which he had …. and the willingness to expose yourself, which he did not. And for what it's worth, I fully agree. It's unfortunate that things happened the way they did, with them…and with us. Your …little speech was all I had to go on for many years. As you've said, Mother is still rather squeamish about those matters, and Daddy and I were still working on establishing basic trust. Left to my own devices, I'd quite decided that you found me unattractive, and that's why you pushed me away."

Thad laughed. She let the sound wash over her, drawing courage from its warmth. "And your being so much of a gentleman in the hallway contributed to the whole Cherry fiasco. I _wasn't_ a little girl anymore, Thad. Not _then_. If you'd kissed me, I'd have known….."

He reached out, and tilted her chin back. "It wouldn't have stopped at kissing," he murmured, softly. "You were looking at me like you loved me, and were preparing to go to sleep only a few doors away. If I'd ceded my control for even an inch, I'm not sure what I would have done."

She smiled, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation. "All the more surprising that you didn't take advantage of the opportunity Cherry was offering."

He smirked, the solemnity gone from his gaze. "Tsk Tsk. What an improper thing to say to a gentleman. I see that education has entirely corrupted you, Dr. Rose. Just like they all say."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "_Go ahead._ Tell me you weren't at least tempted," she teased.

"Of course I was _tempted_," he replied, dryly. "What do you think?"

"Wrong answer!" she pouted, arching her brows at him. She swung herself up on the fence, and dangled her legs. They were almost at a height, now. "You were _supposed_ to tell me you weren't tempted at all!"

"Would you rather I lied to you?"

"Yes!" She sighed, shaking her head. "I mean, no. Not really. But..….."

Thad laughed. "Lust is like hunger, Rosey. It prefers certain dishes, but isn't discriminating in a pinch. When you're male, and young enough, you feel it's nearly always pinch time." She smiled, in spite of herself. "As you get older, you learn that stuffing yourself randomly usually results in a stomach ache. Ideally, your palate refines with your heart, along with your ability to control your impulses." He playfully pulled a long curl that had escaped the net that held the dark mass at the back. "Physical intimacy with someone you don't love is like eating sweets. Pleasurable, but not nourishing, and ultimately not satisfying."

Rose ducked her head. "I was… afraid," she whispered, finally. "I've never fully allowed myself to inhabit my body, because everyone …Daddy… seemed to think it was ….hers. Bonnie's, I mean. If that makes any sense at all. It was like being forced into a dress that the previous owner had left behind. A dead girl's dress." She shuddered, as if debating whether to continue. "Promise me you won't laugh," she warned. He shook his head. "I used to surreptitiously watch you _move_. And I saw exactly what it was I was missing. You always seem so….at home within yourself. And I was terrified I didn't have anything to offer you, when it came to …" She stopped. "So when ….you seemed to withdraw from me, I saw it as a confirmation of my deepest fears. That you ….saw it too, that what was wrong with me. That you wanted a _real girl,_ instead."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Rose. I had no idea. That was why you came into my room that night? To prove that yourself that you were …..real?" When she nodded, he winced visibly. "I sensed the change of tone in your letters …..the forced brightness, and the fake cheer. But instead asking myself why, I put it down to being in a new city, and courted by all those fine, well-born young men. And _then_ my most damnable feature - my pride - kicked in. There's a reason why most theologians consider it the most deadly of sins. I told myself if I went to Charleston, and got a bellyful of you and your success, I might finally be able to move on with my life. Of course, I was deluding myself."

"So you aren't worried that…" She remembered her awkwardness, and her nervousness when he'd kissed her earlier.

He laughed. "That you aren't a _real girl_? No. You seem quite real to me."

She remained silent. "I'm sorry," he said, swiftly, meeting her gaze. "That was a rather …..misguided attempt at levity. What I meant is, Rosey …..even under the best of circumstances, these sorts of things take ….time. Men and women don't just fall into bed together on their wedding night, and are magically transported to an island of bliss. Learning to give each other pleasure is …. a process, that takes _years_. All I ever expected you to bring to the table – or our bed, for that matter - is love, honesty, and a willingness to explore what works for both of us."

"But…."

"No, I'm not at all worried that you're totally devoid of sensuality," he teased, with a grin that she heard in his voice. He held out his hand, and pulled her down from the fence, hugging her against his side. "It's there, and we will explore it together. Step by step."

She flushed, not yet brave enough to face the implications of his words. "So sure of your…skills?"

"Experience must be good for something." He tightened his hold, and she could feel him smiling again. "It's wonderfully soothing to my vanity, that our age difference might actually be advantageous in some respects. With your history, I'd hate for you to have fallen into the hands of an inexperienced boy who doesn't know what he is doing."

"Like Beau Wilkes?"

"Not exactly what I'd call a _boy_, but from my extensive conversations with him in Boston, I'd hardly qualify him as experienced when it comes to women." He stopped, then started again. "When I remember that he almost took you away from me, I want to kill him."

"I was heartbroken you were gone, and I felt myself to be irretrievably damaged. I thought ….I thought he wouldn't mind, how I was. Or how I thought I was."

"_Heartbroken_ doesn't even describe how I felt when I learned you'd accepted another man's proposal one day after I left you. I was sure it meant you'd just been toying with me."

"I'm sorry. I know now how it must have looked."

He took a deep breath. "You've said. For what it's worth, it's much easier to forgot, now that I know you love me."

"More than anything in life," she whispered. "I thought you knew."

"To be quite honest – I did not know, until quite recently. Any more than you. And I don't think I'll tire of hearing it- or telling you, anytime soon."

"I feel …."

"Happy?" he supplied, softly.

"I think so," she smiled. "I haven't felt it for so long I hardly recognize it." She laid her head to the side. Now, she was ready. "Thad! All that you've said about…..you know…_us_…..does this mean that….."

He laughed. "Yes. I suppose I'll never get a better chance. Although I don't even have a ring with me. I guess _this_ will have to do, for now." He knelt gracefully before her, and offered her one of the yellow dandelions. He was staring up at her. She felt overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. "Rose- you know I love you. Will you marry me?"

Rose took the flower. She couldn't see it clearly through the tears in her eyes. "Yes," she said, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear her.

He rose swiftly, and drew her into his arms. His soft lips kissed away her tears. "I promise I will do everything in my power to make you happy," he whispered. It was a solemn vow, to her, to the wind over the meadows, and to the sunlight over the trees. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks, smiling into her April face. "And now that we're engaged, we're going to walk back to the house, very sedately, or I can't be held responsible for what will happen next."

"I thought you just told me how easily mature men master their impulses," she said, laughing once more through her tears. She felt as if she were floating.

"Lust, yes. Most men _do_ learn to master lust at some point. Love …" He shook his head pessimistically. "Not at eighteen, and probably not even at eighty. Definitely not at my advanced age." He permitted himself a last kiss on her neck, before he gave her a light push. "Let's go home. I believe we all have to get ready for Houston."

~~oo~~

"Mother!" Perry said, excitedly, bursting into her room, his younger brothers at his heel. "We have to go to Mr. Griffin's house on Sunday!"

"Who's Mr. Griffin, love?" his mother said, distractedly. She was in the process of sifting through the mountain of clothes the boys had once again outgrown.

"The baker from the town," Perry informed her. "We're invited for tea!"

"The baker?" She held up a pair of pants, measuring it against Dan's long legs. "This one can definitely go to Gerry," she murmured to herself.

"Yes!"

"Why would we want to go to the baker's house for tea?" his mother enquired, not understanding a word of her son's diatribe, and not really paying attention.

"Perry wants to meet his daughter," Gerry supplied, helpfully.

Scarlett's hand arrested in mid-motion. "Perry wants to meet the _baker's_ daughter for tea?"

"Uhhhh…..yes," Perry admitted. "Don't you remember? Her name's _Stella_. She's the one with the golden hair." There was no spark of recognition in his mother's emerald gaze. "She sings with Cousin Thad in Church," he prompted, helpfully. Vague recollection now flitted through Scarlett's eyes, but no understanding. "Can we go?" Perry repeated, urgently. "Please?"

Scarlett stared at him, comprehension finally dawning. "_Perry_! Do you mean you've accepted an invitation to tea on Sunday on my behalf, at the _baker's_ house?"

"Well…..yes," her son said, confusedly. Minor matters - like social status - were entirely beyond him.

His mother sighed. _Rhett warned me any sons of his would be trouble. _

She watched the boys scamper off, and had to laugh. _Rhett will be going, too,_ she thought, with some satisfaction._ I will make sure of that_.

She smiled more fully. Revenge would be sweet indeed.

* * *

Anon: Thanks for catching the typos! The hazards of insomnia, and writing much too late at night. :)


	34. Gabriel

_Thank you once more for all your wonderful insights. I learn so much here that often I feel like I'm back in college - only this time, I'm actually having fun._

_And be forewarned: I'm apparently incapable of writing anything unambiguously cheerful for more than half a chapter. This is...hopeless and optimistic and cruel and kind. Too much and too little, all at once. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy._

* * *

**The Death of the Virgin**

And even she, who stepped into the Heavens

Went not to _him_ - as much as she felt drawn.

There was no room. For _He_ was there, and shone:

A Light that cut.

But now that she, the poignant figure

Walked to the newly Blessed folk

And, unobtrusively, stood by- as light to light-

There came, out of her Being, like an ambush

Such radiance, so that the Angel

That she'd lit up, blinded, cried out, "But who is she?"

They marveled. Then, they saw

God-Father holding back our Lord-

So that, encircled by soft twilight

An empty space showed, like a minor grief -

A touch of loneliness, a dried-out frame,

Akin to something_ he_ had yet to bear

A trace of earthly time.

They looked at her, she timidly looked back -

Leaning forth, as if she felt: _I am _

_His longest grief_ -: and suddenly fell forward.

The Angels took her in their midst

And as they sang, supported her -

And carried her up the final steps.

**- Rainer Maria Rilke**

They had withdrawn to their rooms to dress for supper. Without forethought or planning, they had all donned their evening finery. There was a faintly festive mood in the air.

Thad found Rose on her way to the dining room. Her elegant housedress, trimmed with square ruchings of _mousseline de soie_, foreshadowed the geometrical patterns that would that would become fashionable at the turn of the next century. Her hair was held back in a simple black net at the nape of her neck. The only jewels she wore were her eyes.

His own lit up at the sight of her. "Rose." She turned her head, and smiled brilliantly. To Thad, for whom _joy_ was a very recent addition to the menu of his existence, her pale, adoring face must have seemed like something out of a dream.

He took her hand in his, allowing his thumb to slide gently over her palm. "I still don't have your ring, I'm afraid," he murmured, as if nothing less could reassure him she was his at last. "I ….ordered it in Houston, last time I went. Perhaps we can collect it tomorrow."

"Thad!" she smiled, "the _last time you went to Houston_ was …..just after our ride to the Reservation. Does that you mean you ….."

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," he laughed, his black eyes dancing without a trace of embarrassment.

She shook her head at him. "Awfully sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"Let's just say I ….believe in being prepared."

She laughed, delighted that he had, by all appearances, revived his wish to marry her as soon as he had recovered the slightest spark of hope. Thad looked this way and that into the empty corridor, and, finding nobody, lifted her up, and spun her around. She shrieked with glee, feeling dizzy by the time he set her down again. She clung to the lapels of his evening suit, in part for support, in part because she wanted to prolong their closeness. Thad seemed to feel the same way. They stood together, their silhouettes merging in the twilight. "Shall we shock everyone and announce our engagement tonight?" he murmured, still pressing her against him.

She smiled shyly, and nodded. "Yes. Somehow it doesn't feel …real, until we've told our family." In their mutual delight, they considered only the reactions of Scarlett and Rhett.

"I know. And I confess I want to make it as hard as possible for you to change your mind."

"I won't change my mind," she replied, softly.

He allowed his soft lips to briefly capture hers, his hands trapping her against the wall. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

He was overwhelming, so close. Rose, peeping up at him through her mother's thick lashes, thought briefly of Houston, and the ball they were to attend. Thought of sharing him with a whole room full of beautiful women – experienced, _worldly _women, for whom his money, looks and position would be more than enough to make up for his deficits in background. She heard his words echo in her mind - _I threw myself into the Houston social scene with gusto._ Had any of the ladies they would meet been more than just a friend to him? As she had confessed, Rose had little trust in her own appeal, or even much ownership over her body. She felt jealousy, and insecurity, rising once more.

Thad did not see it, but his caresses, and the soft words he murmured into the dusky shadows of her curls, were eloquent nonetheless. When he finally took her hand once more to lead her to supper, her radiance was almost fully restored.

~~oo~~

Supper had been roasted Eastern Wild Turkey, that Charles had shot himself earlier that day. He had even overseen its preparation in the kitchen, somewhat to the irritation of Della, Belle's cook, who'd strongly objected to the addition of peanuts to the stuffing. "Some of the best huntin' in this State, that I've ever seen," Charles asserted, looking around the table with satisfaction - before motioning Mary, the maid, to fill his plate with a liberal helping of breast meat.

When the table had been cleared, and steaming coffee served in small, gold-rimmed Turkish cups, Thad rose from his seat. "I have an announcement to make," he said, his warm, resonant bass silencing even the clamor of the boys. He waited until all eyes were turned to him, then reached for Rose's hand, lifting their interlaced fingers above the line of the tablecloth. "This afternoon, I asked Rose to be my wife. And I am thrilled to announce she accepted."

A murmur of astonishment went 'round- but there were smiles on the faces of Rhett, Scarlett, Charles, Chase, Ella, and Charlotte. Gerry and Dan looked slightly bored. Perry beamed widely, quickly calculating his much-increased odds of remaining indefinitely in the proximity of Stella. He, perhaps as much as anyone, felt in wonderful charity with his sister's wedding plans.

In the silent moment just before the clamor of congratulations would have burst forth, a choking noise rang through the room. "_No_..." someone said, like a wail of heart-felt agony. Heads turned in astonishment, attempting to localize the sound.

Belle Watling had turned ashen white, swaying in her seat. Charles now reached out, his hand tightening on her shoulder to steady her.

Under the horrified gaze of the onlookers, Belle drew a deep, juddering breath. Suddenly, as if she could bear it no longer, she jumped up, and almost stumbled out of the room. The heavy oak door wavered, then slammed shut behind her.

For several heartbeats, no one spoke.

"I must apologize for my mother," Thad said quietly to his avowed fiancée. Rose did not answer, staring rigidly down at her cup. With a remote expression, that recalled even more difficult times in her life, she lifted it up with a steady fingers, bringing the dark, bitter liquid to her lips. She drank, and sat it down again.

Rhett exchanged a brief look with Charles, and then half-turned to Scarlett, sitting at his right.

"Would you mind if ….I went after her?" he asked, quietly. Twenty years of love and trust hung in the balance of the glance they exchanged, and he heard her answer even before she voiced it aloud for the others.

"Of course not," Scarlett said, briskly. "_Somebody_ needs to, and I suspect you'll talk sense into her better than anyone else could. _Go._ Rose …." She got up, and walked over to her daughter's chair. "Don't mind her, love. She's just … shocked and surprised. She'll come around, I promise!"

The expression on Rose's face did not change. Queenly she looked, and composed, and almost oppressively beautiful under the heavy crown of her dark hair. But of all the onlookers, it was her uncle who, albeit silently, found the appropriate quotation: _Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null_.

~~oo~~

Rhett found Belle in her bedroom, sobbing violently into her oversized pillows. Even in the dim candlelight, it was obvious that Thad's Spartan taste and influence ended abruptly at his mother's bedroom door. Here were chintz draperies, and flowered curtains, and numerous thick throw pillows overloaded with lace.

"Get up, my dear," Rhett said, gently. "We need to talk - and no matter how much she trusts us, I suspect Scarlett would prefer it didn't happen in your bedroom."

Belle made a snorting noise, under her tears. "I 'spect she would."

She arose, and attempted to wipe her tear-stained face with her handkerchief. When she removed it, it was streaked with powder, and rouge. "We can go in here," she mumbled.

She led him into an adjourning sitting room, closing the double door behind her. The overstuffed armchairs, opulent oil paintings, and the small sewing table declared that it, too, was primarily used by herself.

Rhett sat down across from her, his large frame sinking downward into the upholstery. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I never did mind," she remarked. She watched as he withdrew a gold cigar case – a gift of Scarlett's on their twentieth wedding anniversary - and helped himself to one of the Cuban cigars. She struck a match, and held it out to him – an instinctive, familiar gesture, rehearsed a million times in the past. Rhett's lips curled, but he bent forward, permitting her to light the cigar. He drew a deep breath.

"Better," he said.

"Still don' like scenes, do yer," she offered, with something akin to a grin. "Sorry 'bout that."

He leaned back, shaking his head at her. "Anything in particular you have against Rose, my dear – other than that she happens to be _my _daughter?"

Her plucked, penciled eyebrows went up in horror. "Oh no! It ain't _that_."

"I am…. delighted to hear it," he replied, dryly.

She looked at him, wondering if she should speak frankly. "It ain't that she's _yours._ Or Scarlett's. You's both my dearest friends, and yer _know_ how much I love those boys. I just ain't ….never got on with _'er_. She's all…lah-dee-dah."

Rhett's full red lips curled into something like a smirk. They had always been honest with each other. "Would a girl who is as … lah-dee-dah as you say…want to marry a son of _yours_, Belle?"

She did not flinch at his frankness. "She's been around Thad since she was little. And him being handsome, an' charming. He turned 'er head. It don't mean she's…..." She shook her head mulishly at his raised eyebrows. "She looks at me as if I was…..a _bug_, that one. She'd probably…."

"She'd probably what?"

"Throw me out," Belle whispered, a fat tear rolling down her cheeks. She sniffled audibly into her handkerchief.

Rhett laughed so hard that smoke came out of his nose, turning him into a coughing, fire-breathing dragon. "_Rose?_" he asked, after he had recovered his air. "I highly doubt it. It's much more probable that _Thad_ will throw you out, my dear, if you insist on acting in this manner towards his future wife." He leaned forward, and gently patted her well-padded shoulder. "Come now. You know it's pointless to talk a man out of a girl, once he's made up his mind."

"Sure do," she agreed, but without bitterness. Not that she had ever _tried_ to talk him out of loving Scarlett, while she still loved him. It would have been pointless - like he said.

"Brandy?" she offered. He nodded, and she got up, pouring him a liberal glass from the decanter on the side table. The old, familiar camaraderie had fallen over them like a blanket. How often, and how long had he sat in an obnoxious, overstuffed sitting room just like this one, trying to while away the hours during one of the worst periods of his life? Just like then, he found the vulgarity of his surroundings oppressive. His keen aesthetic sense, that he had passed on to his youngest daughter, had been comforted only by the thought that his so-called _home_ on Peachtree Street was even more of a monstrosity – if only because it pretended to be more that it was - and much less filled with warmth.

His black eyes regarded her now from the distance of over two decades. Belle was no longer young, and she had not been beautiful even at the height of her appeal. Her attraction had always lain elsewhere. He had sought comfort in her unquestioning love - and, equally, in the fact that he had _not _loved her.

Belle had offered him the same dangerous trade that he had silently offered the unwitting Scarlett: love given, but concealed - bartered for nothing but the flimsiest air-castles of hope. What a relief it had seemed at the time, to play the other side of that Faustian pact.

"It's in your own best interest to get along with Rose," he said.

From the look she gave him, he could see she was not convinced. And that she was plotting something - something she hoped would end up giving her the upper hand after all.

And he would find out what it was.

~~oo~~

Eventually, he returned into the drawing room, where the survivors of the onslaught had gathered to regroup.

"Did you calm her down?" his wife asked.

"For now." But there was a speculative look in his eyes.

Thad was talking softly to Rose, whose luminous glow had dimmed to marble. Rhett was about to go to them, when he felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned around. He looked into his eldest daughter's sweet, heart-shaped face.

"Daddy!" Ella said, softly. She held up her slender right hand, which carried a large, star-cut diamond surrounded by tiny rubies, set in an antique gold setting. "You'll want your ring back. Now that Rose is getting married, I mean ….."

He looked down at her, something like pain in his eyes. He took her small hands in his, and pressed them gently. "Of course not, Ella. I gave that ring to _you_. To keep."

"But…"

His grip on her hands tightened. "My mother, when still in the possession of her faculties, instructed me to give her ring to _my oldest daughter on her wedding day_. And that is exactly what I did."

"But….you told me it's a _family ring_, that goes back for generations," Ella said softly. "I'm sure you were hoping to give it to ….."

"Ella – _you_ are my eldest daughter. This ring would have been yours, even if Bonnie had lived."

It was the knowledge that she would have handed over her ring - and not even thought ill of him as she did so - that was, perhaps, his strongest rebuke.

He stepped to Thad, who had to all appearances lost his fiancée to an excited circle of females eager to congratulate her.

"I probably should have asked," Thad said, when he saw him. But he was smiling nonetheless.

Rhett smiled in return, his expression showing genuine delight. "Aside from assuring my daughter's happiness, what pleases me most about this wedding is that I will now officially be able to call you my son."

At one time, such a remark would have been met with scorn. Now, they shook hands in wordless understanding.

~~oo~~

"Come in," Belle called.

Thad, still dressed in his dark evening clothes, entered with a determined stride. He stopped in the middle of the room. As was his wont, he did not waste time with preliminaries.

"If you make another scene like this, Mother, ever again - you will no longer be welcome in my house."

It was the tone that was her undoing, more than anything. She gave another, audible sniffle, and hid her face in the crook of her arm. "You never did care 'bout me," she sobbed, tears streaming once more down her face.

Thad appeared unmoved. "If you so choose, I shall be happy to set you up in a comfortable establishment of your own, wherever you wish to live." As if it mattered little to him if she stayed or went. Except in how it affected Rose.

She lifted her tearstained face from the dampened upholstery. "I thought….." _I thought we could become closer_. But the words did not come out. _I thought we might become …. friends._

He looked at her, and, suddenly, there was something alive in his eyes. Like Rose's, Thad's features could appear almost transcendental when passion, or anger, illuminated his face. The cold light of gemstones, and polished silver, and frozen waterfalls. _Gabriel_, she should have named him, his mother thought disjointedly, watching the transformation before her eyes. The avenging angel. Her son, the child of her heart - who was proposing so callously never to see her again.

"Rose has done nothing to you. In fact, she's always shown you every respect. If you cannot return the favor, perhaps the two of you should not be under the same roof."

She was not insightful, or sophisticated. "She's not like us," she whispered. "She'll never respect you. We'll always be ….dirt in her eyes."

He was not appeased by her clumsy attempt to remind him of their kinship. "Frankly, mother, I care neither about your sentiments, nor your reasoning. I gave you a home when you wanted to move away from Atlanta, because I thought it was my duty. But from the day you handed me over to Uncle Rhett to carry to New Orleans, you gave up the right to tell me how to run my life. Never mind whom to chose as my wife."

"I did it fer you", she said, in a muffled voice.

He ignored her once more. "I trust I have made myself clear."

And then he was gone, leaving behind not even a shadow.

~~oo~~

Charles Butler had withdrawn into the library, nursing a glass of Scotch. His young niece had followed him, unsure of where else to go, or who to turn to.

A comfortable fire flickered in the back of the room. The walls were liberally lined with bookshelves. Warm leather armchairs surrounded low, round wooden tables dotted with ashtrays. It was an inviting room, but it utterly lacked the grandeur of the libraries Charlotte was accustomed to; filled with family portraits that went back generations, and priceless Chinese porcelain bowels sitting in alcoves next to busts of the illustrious ancestors of the Butlers.

Had she been a prolific reader, she would have noted that the library also lacked in bulk, if not in sustenance – and been reminded of the value of generations of wealth and learning, handing down the fruits of their acquisitions to the ones that followed. Thad's libraries boasted almost all of the major works of the _Weltliteratur_, but lacked the casual favorite – the trifling novels, the connoisseur's hobbies – the travelogues picked up by successive generations of collectors. A philosopher might have wondered if it was indeed _that_ - the privilege of standing in a privileged line - that we attempt to label with the clumsy term of _aristocracy_. Whatever it was, it was not here.

Charlotte was not a philosopher. She was interested in people, not abstractions - most specifically, in her friend. "_Why_ is she so unkind about Rose?" she asked, more out of helplessness than anything. She did not really expect an intelligible answer.

He smiled benignly at her. "'Cause he loves her."

Charlotte shook her head in disgust. "It would help if you could overcome your laziness for once, Uncle Charles, and speak in complete sentences! You are not making a lot of sense to me. Because _who _loves _whom_?"

"The young man. Thad. Because _he_ loves Rose." Charles' placid temper was unruffled by her rudeness. Had he cared to show it, or had she cared to look, she might have seen that he had a partiality for her that exceeded his fondness for most of his other relations - including, perhaps, his own adult daughters.

"And that's a good enough reason to be mean to her?" Charlotte replied, aghast. "Shouldn't his mother be _happy _that Thad will be marrying the woman he loves?"

"People's like that," he affirmed, nodding his head. "lash out, if they feel insecure."

"Are you trying to say that Thad's mother feels … insecure?" Charlotte wasn't sure he was making sense now. Or if he ever did.

Her uncle nodded again. "Had someone else picked out for him, Belle did. Someone more like herself. But that wasn't what's important to her. "

"What _was_ important, then?" Charlotte asked, impatiently.

"That Thad doesn't love the other girl, either."

"That he doesn't love her _either_?"

"Anymore than Belle thinks Thad loves _her_."

Charlotte stared at him. Perhaps, she had misjudged him after all. Perhaps, there was more to him than merely a slow, aging man, who cared only about shooting grouse, and turkey, and waterfowl..

"I saw Thad's mother come out of your room this morning," she said, suddenly. Though she had missed her mother's self-centeredness, she had inherited a fair dose of her lack of tact.

Charles looked at her again, but appeared neither surprised, nor horrified, nor ashamed. "Did you now."

"It _always_ happens to me, too," she said, mournfully. "I run into things ….or situations….that I don't want to. And _then_ I'm in the middle of a mess."

"No accident, I expect," he told her, with a wink. "_Would_ be someone who's up and about, and here and there, in a lot of places all at once. Bound to run into more things than the rest of us."

"I wonder," she said, thoughtfully, thinking back to her encounter with Gina. "Will you…..marry her?" Her blue eyes regarded him keenly.

Strangely enough, his eyes twinkled. "I doubt she'd have me."

"You might try_ asking_," Charlotte said, dryly. Then she drew in a sharp breath, mildly horrified at herself. She couldn't believe she'd just told her uncle to propose to a former prostitute. But perhaps, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he did, she tried to reason with herself. He seemed more… approachable ever since they'd arrived at the Ranch. Actually taking an interest in life, for once. If he stayed here, none of the busybodies in Charleston need ever know. And if Belle was really bent on hurting Rose out of insecurity, being married might make her….nicer, would it not? And…..it would horrify her mother. Greatly. Charlotte smiled grimly to herself. It wasn't the insults to herself that had sounded in the current Ice-Age between her mother and herself. It had been her mother's treatment of Ella.

"I might." He laughed.

The door opened, and closed, bringing Thad.

He nodded briefly to his father, then cast a look at Charlotte.

"Errrks," she said, "Congratulations again on your engagement. I'm, uhm, very happy for both of you. I'll, uh, leave you alone now."

The two men waited until the door closed behind her.

Charles extended his hand. "Once again, thrilled to hear of your engagement, my boy. I'm sure you'll be very happy."

Thad took it.

Charles hesitated, and plunged forward. "I would like to offer to ….. formally adopt you. _Before_ you get married, if you wish. In case it matters to you, with regards to…..." He paused once again, as if uncertain. "Feel free to think about it for a while."

Thad lifted his brows, as if astonished his natural father was capable of making such a formal speech. For a minute or two, he let the silence drag through the room. "I …. appreciate the offer," he said, finally. "And I …don't need to think about it. I accept. There's nothing I wouldn't do for….."

"I understand," Charles said, hurridly. "Might as well lay my cards on the table, and let you make your own choices. Would like to ….stick around in the area. Maybe permanently. Not much keeping me back in Charleston, you see."

For a moment, the two men continued to stare at each other. Finally, Thad nodded. "It's a fair enough trade," he said, softly.

"Hope it'll turn out to be more'n that," his father said, affably. "Might even be able to help out some with…."

"When pigs fly,"retorted his son.

~~oo~~

Rhett knocked, and, on hearing the _'come in_' stepped into a lady's bedroom for the second time that night. Rose turned when he entered. His daughter had already changed, wearing a simple, white wrapper over her nightgown, looking frightfully young and vulnerable. She was sitting at the vanity table, attempting to drag a silver-backed brush through her hair, and encountering nothing but tangles.

"I have something for you," Rhett said, holding out the bulky, silk-encased, square package he'd been carrying in his brown hands.

She acceapted it, a quizzical look between her brows.

"For the ball in Houston. And …. for any appropriate occasion, after that."

Curious, she pushed aside the grey silk.

The first thing she noticed was the color. Clouds of blue damask spilled out, revealing an ethereal, superlative ball gown. It was trimmed with translucent, embroidered lace, and dotted with shimmering pearls. The corsage was pointed in front, trimmed with tulle around an elegant, slightly asymmetrical neckline. A double garland of matchless pearls curved to the right of the waist, fastened by silver clasps in the shape of seashells.

Rose held it up. For the longest moment, she remained silent, her eyes cast down to the floor. When she lifted her lids, her eyes shimmered with tears. The color of the fabric reflected the blue of her irises, making them sparkle like gems.

Rhett waited, somewhat hesitatingly, for her to speak.

"Thank you, Daddy," she managed to say, finally. "But believe it or not, this isn't …necessary. Oh, I don't deny that not too long ago, I would have given anything for such a gift. But now…. I find I don't need it anymore."

When he raised his brows quizzically, she continued, "it was never the _color_. It was always about you…..seeing me, for myself. We …..no longer have need for grand gestures between us, Daddy. After ...after learning that'd you'd written to Thad, over _years_…it told me everything that I needed to know."

He drew a deep breath, determined to follow through with his apology. "Hear me out, Rose. I've never told you how sorry I was for what happened on the stairs that day. You were only a little girl. I should have…"

She shook her head. "I know you didn't mean it," she whispered. "And I no longer mind, that she lives on a little, in me. Or even that you still see _her_ sometimes, when you look at me. But what I _don't_ want is for you to feel any more pain. At least not if it can be avoided." The blue in her eyes had become almost as black as his. "There's enough pain in the world already, without us adding to it."

He smiled at her. "Seeing you in that dress will not pain me, Rose. Partly, I hope, because I have matured since that incident, but partly because you and I are now in a place that is far different from anything I ever had with Bonnie. She will always be ...a little girl in my mind, and I will treasure her memory as such. You…..you're a grown woman now, and our relationship reflects that. I chose this particular dress simply because you will look beautiful in it. I want you to float into that ballroom on Thad's arm, and feel like all the stars of the Heavens have fallen down to sparkle just for you.

Outside the large windows, early crickets sang their increasingly persistent song. There was an occasional hoot of an owl, or the snort of a horse. Cacophonous frogs heralded the beginning of mating season.

She wept for the first time that night. He could not draw her to his chest and hold her – such simple comforts were not for them. But he could sit down beside her on the bench, and place his arm around her shoulder, offering the solace of his presence. Until at last, the tears ceased.

* * *

_Charles' quote is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The description of the dresses are from the book "Victorian Fashions & Costumes from Harper's Bazar, 1867-1898" The Rilke translation is, clumsily, mine._

_Next up (unless the plot gremlins intervene): Rhett learns he will be taking tea at the baker's . :)_


	35. Bedfellows

_Thanks as always for your wonderful reviews, insights, __pm's, and thoughts._

_This is for LMS, Amaranthe, WiwitDM, DianaMary, and anon, and the guests who've been waiting patiently for a Charles-Belle scene, as well as a flashback to Belle's youth, and more insights into Belle's feelings for both Rhett, and Charles._

_For rhett-loves-scarlett – I hope this also answers your question regarding how many years Belle and Rhett were lovers in this story._

_For Asline Nicole, Carol, and the guests who have wished for more R&S moments._

_For darthripley, and another guest…more Charlotte!_

* * *

"What a night!" Scarlett exclaimed, while settling herself into the comfortable double bed in their guest bedroom, arranging the burgundy pillows underneath her head. Her long hair cascaded becomingly over her nightgown, glistening like a dark waterfall down to the soft, white linen. "I mean, I'm thrilled Rose will marry the man she wants, but I still don't understand what could have gotten into Belle! Where _else_ would he find a wife such as Rose?" She shook her head in bewilderment.

Her husband had slid in beside her, after lightening his customary cigar. He doused the light, sliding his free arm under his wife's neck, and settled her head on his shoulder. With some unwillingness, he cast his mind back to his most recent conversation with Belle. "I don't suppose she rightly knows herself."

"Did she say anything to you?" Scarlett asked curiously, while snuggling into the triangular space between his arm and his ribcage. His nightgown was only partially buttoned at the top, and she permitted an errant hand to run briefly over his matted chest.

He blew a ring of smoke into the semi-darkness. "She said she is afraid Rose will make her leave."

"The idea," Scarlett laughed, now interlacing her small, perfectly manicured fingers with his unoccupied hand. "_Thad_ might make her leave, if she continues to be so rude to Rose! Did you _see _his face at supper, after Belle left? He looked like he was just about ready to commit murder!"

"I told her the same thing," Rhett agreed, somewhat absently. His mind was only partially contemplating Belle, and Rose. The other half was much more pleasantly occupied, inhaling the verbena scent wafting from Scarlett's hair, mixing with the aromatic cigar smoke. He had long ago decided it was a …quite intoxicating combination. From his semi-elevated position, he was also able to peek easily underneath the collar of her staid travelling nightgown, straight to the alluring rise of her breasts – one of the many reasons he preferred sitting as he did.

"Well," Scarlett added, "if she can't be made to listen to common sense, I shall have to resort to …other measures!"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," her husband laughed. His thumb was making lazy circles on her palm, all the while his gaze was soaking in the panorama. A more astute observer than his wife would have noticed he was already thoroughly distracted from the evening's family drama.

"Don't be," she assured him. "I still have ….a debt to call in."

He raised his eyebrows, but did not question her further. Perhaps he hoped that, without encouragement, she might stop talking on her own.

"Rose and Ella are packed, and ready," she continued, unfazed by his lack of response. "Thad means to leave for Houston early in the morning, so they'll arrive with plenty of time for them to get ready for the ball. I admit I still don't know if it's a good idea, to send them off alone, with only Ella as a chaperone! I mean, they _are _engaged now - Thad and Rose, I mean - but….." her voice trailed off. She feared her mother, Mammy... and, even worse, her formidable sister-in-law Rosemary, mother of Charlotte - would consider it to be _highly irregular_.

"I have no doubt Thad will take excellent care of the girls." Rhett put out his cigar in the ashtray on the side table, placed his hands around her waist, and pulled her up, towards him. After all - enough was enough.

"Oh, and we're invited to the baker's house for tea on Sunday," she tried to let him know, but as he had already claimed her lips, she wasn't sure he had heard her.

Then, _she_, too, forgot about Belle, Rose, Thad, and the baker, for the remainder of the night.

~~oo~~

A few corridors away, Charles Butler was sitting in the comfortable, oversized armchair across from Belle's bed.

"You shouldn'da come in," she told him, anxiously. "I told you yer niece saw me come out of yer room this mornin'." She was already in bed, propped against multiple pillows. She was clad in a majestic pink nightgown, covered with red roses. A white lace bonnet sat daintily on her red-and-white locks. On her lap, a white, oversized cat perched, which she was in the process of brushing. "Whatever will she think?" she added, mournfully.

"Charlotte? There's no telling," he laughed, not appearing at all disturbed, and not divulging that Charlotte had already mentioned the episode to him. "But no need to worry your head. She's a good girl, that one."

Belle sighed. "Easy for you ter laugh," she said, somewhat bitterly. "It ain't _your_ reputation. It never was." She shot him a look that was almost accusatory. "I was mindin' my business. We was livin' a quiet life, Thad and me. An' then ….._you_ came." It remained unclear whether she was referring to the Butler family _in toto, _or Charles in particular. The cat, feeling her tension, bristled, then arched its back, and jumped off the bed, disappearing into the sitting-room next door to sleep on the settee.

"Be better to lay off about the little one," her former lover – no, her recent lover! - counseled, just like his elder brother had. "The boy looked about as mad as a bull."

Belle sighed again. She couldn't have explained to herself how she had ended up in Charles' room last night. She had investigated a strange scream, that still made her suspicious, and Thad had thrown her out of his room, none-too-gently. Almost as roughly as he had threatened to throw her out of his life. And then ….she had walked to the drawing-room in her wrapper, to procure a glass of the Ouzo Rhett had sent them from Greece. And there Charles had been, apparently also unable to sleep.

And then it had been as if the last thirty-eight years had never happened.

_Summer of 1856. The 50s had been the most profitable decade in all of history for Charleston Rice planters. Rice fields lined both flanks of the Ashley River, flooded annually by its rising tides. The Butler plantation, lost during the War, and later recovered by its scallywag son, had once been one of the largest rice producers in South Carolina. Its wealth, and its opulence, had been legendary. A stream of carriages would bring the overdressed members of the Ton to its lavish annual balls, its hunting-parties, its country picnics. _

_The people living there year-round - the men, their wives, and children, had had other, more immediate, concerns. Belle remembered that life - the rhythm of the planting and the harvest - as if it were something out of a half-forgotten dream. Starting in late February, laborers would spend weeks preparing the fields with an intricate pattern of dikes and drainage ditches, rice trunks, and gates. Then, slaves dragged shallow furrows into the soil, using specifically designed wooden rakes. At long last, the rice seed was dropped into the furrows, and covered with a thin layer of dirt. _

_The last step was traditionally performed by everyone working on the plantation – Master and Slave. White and black. Men and women. Grown-up, and child. All stripped off their socks and shoes, and with their bare feet, pushed and flattened the dirt over the seeds. _

_She'd been nineteen. Strawberry red hair, milky white skin, blue eyes. Shapely legs that peeked out under her skirts, when she stomped vigorously on the dry soil with the others._

_She had noticed Charles Butler, of course, who had been given the responsibility of overseeing the planting that year. He had a reputation for being even-tempered, but somewhat unimaginative. Unlike his older brother, who had been cast out almost a decade ago, but whom many of them still remembered. Charles had been immaculately dressed despite the heat, in his beige riding habit, and black hunting boots. In the past, other Masters had taken part in the final step of the planting themselves, but not he. He merely stood, leaning on a curved cherry stick, and watched. _

_Mostly watched her, as she later found out._

_The end of the Planting had fallen on Mid-Summer Day. A large bonfire had been erected, and there had been music, and dancing. And plenty of wine. The sparks had flown from the large fire, flaring like fireflies into the dark, warm June night, sometimes getting dangerously close to the dancers. She had reveled with the others, in a clinging white dress, that outlined every curve of her full body._

"_Careful. You'll get burned," a voice behind her had said. She'd turned around - and there he was._

"_I ain't afraid of fire," she'd replied coquettishly, never slow on her feet. He'd stepped between her and the fire, blocking out her view. When he pulled her to him, his lips had tasted of wine, and chocolate. _

_She had spent the summer pressed against his skin. Even now, she couldn't properly blame her young self for falling for him as hard as she had._

Now, almost forty years later, he was here once more, lounging in her chair, looking as if he had not a care in the world. He had seemed younger in appearance since his arrival at the Ranch, but he was no longer the dashing, twenty-six year old master of his father's plantation. His form and features were very similar to his older brother's, but he was heavier, and the planes of his face spoke of a staid existence, without much occasion for either mirth or frowns.

"The boy agreed to the adoption," Charles announced, suddenly.

Some almost withered part of her, that longed for acknowledgement, and respectability for her son – couldn't help but rejoice, for all that she deplored what she suspected must be Thad's main motivation. "Makes it easy for you", Belle replied, with some acidity. "Ready-made son, rich to boot – an' no trouble whatsoever to raise."

"Know I owe m'brother a great debt," Charles said, simply. "Would do it differently, if I could go back."

"Would you?" she asked, skeptically. It was disconcerting at times, how much he looked like Rhett. It could make one believe it had been _him_ all along, with whom she'd had an on-again-off again affair for over fifteen years. That they had a much longer, more intimate history than they did in actuality. Not merely one languid, hot, sweltering summer that ended in disgrace.

It was odd, she thought. She had deeply, and hopelessly, loved Rhett - for his kindness to Thad, for the gentility he tried to hide under sarcasm and jests, and for his willingness to help her with her business. Rhett, as painful as it had been at times to see him so infatuated with another woman, had never deceived her, or broken promises. She had loved Rhett for his merits, and Charles Butler despite his faults.

"Owe _you_ a debt, too," he added, looking at her soulfully.

She thought she recognized it for what it was – blatant manipulation to get back into her good graces, and perhaps her bed – but she couldn't prevent her eyes from welling up again. "Thad hates me," she whispered.

Charles, by no means as slow-witted as he could at times appear, immediately took the opportunity to slide off the chair, and into the bed beside her. Ostensibly to place a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"It'll be alright," he said, soothingly. "What did he say?"

She sobbed out the entire scene – to no one could she have admitted it, but him. Perhaps because he was Thad's father. Perhaps, because he had been the last person to know her as a respectable - albeit poor - young girl. Even Rhett had only known her intimately when she had already been a _Working Woman_, and looked down on her for it. No matter how much he'd tried to hide it.

She sighed at her misplaced nostalgia. After all, it had been Charles himself who had been the cause of her downfall. And Thad, by his very existence. It would have been easy to get rid of Thad, had she wanted to. Or to abandon him after birth. She had not moved in such illustrious circles, that she hadn't known her options. But she had kept him, decided to raise him – and _this_ was her reward.

"I wanted better things for him than ter grow up in a brothel," she sniffed. "At first ….when I didn't have ma own establishment, it wouldna been possible ter keep 'im with me. And then…" she sighed. "I wanted 'im ter be in _school_. Learn somthin'. Make somethin' of 'is life."

"And it seems like he has," Charles agreed.

"Ain't thankin' _me_ fer it, is he."

"What he said was certainly very unkind," Charles agreed.

She looked up at him, gratefully. She didn't even mind that his hands had long ceased to be _comforting_. Nor stayed confined to her shoulders.

Charles was not a bad lover, albeit sadly out of practice. Not unlike herself.

~~oo~~

The door to Charlotte's bedroom opened softly. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Charlotte murmured, sleepily. She had had an interesting dream, which she now couldn't remember. Why, she asked herself, is it never as difficult to remember nightmares?

Her cousin slid into bed beside her, her black curls spilling over the pillows.

"I used to do this with Ella," Rose confessed. "On nights I was especially angry with Daddy, I'd climb into bed with her, and moan about the unfairness of it all."

Charlotte tried to shake the cobwebs from her brain. "Sorry," she offered, with genuine sympathy. "Thad's mother is behaving very oddly!"

"She never _did_ like me much." Rose sighed, drawing the coverlet up to her chin. "When we'd go over to the Ranch when we were children, she'd want to play with the boys, but try to avoid me." It had been strangely painful to be thus singled out, especially as it had seemed to echo Rhett's rejection. Rose's dark brows came together over the bridge of her nose. "To tell you the truth, _I_ don't like her much, either." It felt good to be vindictive, and juvenile.

"I don't expect you could," Charlotte agreed.

Rose turned around to face her. "It will be difficult to live under the same roof together, if…." Her thoughts drifted off, as she tried to envision herself permanently installed at the Ranch. _As Thad's wife_. A beatific smile formed, and she chided herself a besotted schoolgirl.

"Oh, I have no doubt Thad'll back you up against her," Charlotte said, turning as well. "One look at his face at supper told everything! But …..well…..think of Uncle Charles, and Uncle Rhett! They fairly outdo each other trying to make Grandmother comfortable, even though she hasn't been in her right mind for _years_. Men can be ….odd about their mothers. It may ….._eat_ at him, if he does have to throw her out. Even if they're not close. And anything that eats at him, must eat at _you, _don't you think?"

"Charlotte," Rose gasped. "What a speech!"

They couldn't help giggling, more to try to lighten the mood, than from real mirth. It was hard to forget that they had been débutantes together. And they were young, and still awkward with their own wisdom, and the heavy things in life.

"I can't wait for the ball," Charlotte announced, dreamily, quite ready to change the subject. "Uncle Rhett giving us those scrumptious gowns – and _you_ even got a blue one! It will be so much fun!"

Rose put her head back on the pillow. "We'll see," she said, softly, to herself.

~~oo~~

Early morning sunlight flooded the Ranch. White-and-brown cattle grazed on the horizon, their occasional sounds carrying in a low rumble far over the plain. The blue-jays, the lark sparrows and the warblers twittered excitedly in the apple orchard, mingling with the distinct _wrrooo wrrooo wrrooo_ of a white-winged dove. A large, well-sprung carriage, drawn by matching bays, was parked in the driveway in front of the main building.

"Mornin'," Charles called, cheerfully. He was dressed in suitable morning attire, his hair already properly slicked back. He looked fairly alert for a man of his age, who had not, after all, spent much of the previous night sleeping. The three girls had not come out yet, but Thad was there, engaged in lifting several large suitcases onto the top of the carriage. "Might want to let your men do that," his father observed, somewhat taken aback. In Charleston, it would have been unthinkable for the Master of the House to do servants' work. He himself had certainly never lifted anything heavier than a full glass of whiskey.

"Why? Last I checked, my arms were not broken."

Charles laughed, apparently unoffended. He had noted it before, in Charleston - his son's somewhat deplorable tendencies to fraternize with the staff. Another consequence, no doubt, of his humble upbringing. He shrugged off the thought. After all, Thad's idiosyncrasies did not appear to affect the discipline of his men, or that of his house-staff. "Point well taken. Let me lend you a hand." Charles attempted to move one of the suitcases himself, and, panting slightly, lifted it up on the roof. "Them girls must be carrying half their wardrobe."

Thad grinned. "They always do."

His father looked around at the coach-boy, who was tending to the harnessing of the bays, well out of earshot. In the bushes nearby, there was the occasional sweet trilling of a winter wren. He decided to forge ahead. "Belle's very upset. 'bout what you told her, yesterday."

Thad's features hardened again. "If I were low-minded, I would start to wonder just when she told you this - given that she hadn't been up yet, a mere five minutes ago. And if this is meant to be your version of time-honered "_don't speak like this to your mother, son_" speech - you're roughly thirty years too late. For a lot of things. _Father_."

Charles nodded, ignoring the first part of the volley. "Don't think I don't know that. It's not for me, that I'm telling you this. It's for her."

He saw the mulish expression cross his son's face, and almost smiled. "Look more like m'brother than me, you do. Specially when you pull that face." He held up his hand. "Yes, yes - you think she's done you wrong, by having you out of wedlock, and then by not keeping you with her. But she was no more'n a young girl, Belle was. Only nineteen." He shook his head with contrition. "It was wrong of us to take up with one another. Wrong not to be more careful. But she might have decided….not have you at all. Did the best she could, considering I …..left her with few options. Come to think of it, was right clever of her to have you raised in New Orleans, under m'brother's care. Certainly did better by you, than raising you in Atlanta, amongst…."

"If you're telling me it's _you_ I should be despising, have no fear. I do." Thad threw another suitcase on the roof of the carriage, not looking at him. After pushing it into place, he jumped up on the driver's seat, to fasten the ropes securely around the luggage. It was not until he had jumped back down to the ground that he spoke again. "You would not be here, were it not for the fact that your presence matters to people I care about. And the only reason I agreed to the adoption is for Rose. She doesn't deserve the added stigma of marrying an illegitimate man, along with all the other gossip we will be generating."

"I know that," Charles said, betraying almost no melancholy. "Will do what I can to make amends. But listen to me, m'boy. You are what you are, in part because of Belle. Like it or not."

Thad's features did not twitch._ Perhaps I 'am' too late_, Charles thought. Aloud, he levied his final shot. "And don't make the same mistake I made. All my life, I looked down on the weakness of others – mainly 'cause I couldn't forgive myself for my own."

He nodded again, but did not stay to wait for an answer. Thad stared after him, until the laughter of the three girls announced their arrival from the house.

* * *

Edit to add: I tweaked the paragraph about Belle's love for Rhett and Charles, because I realized it didn't quite convey what I wanted. I didn't mean to imply that Belle had loved Rhett _less_ ... because I actually don't think that. I wanted to convey that her love for Rhett was based on Rhett's _merits_ (his kindness to her boy, his honesty, his support for her business). Charles, she had loved despite his _flaws_...and despite the fact that he had been the very opposite of kind to her. She loved him like Rhett loved Scarlett, in the beginning - *warts and all*, perhaps because of the warts. And just like for Rhett, initially, that didn't turn out too well for her.

I'm actually not sure if a love that grows over time, due to kindness, is more or less weighty, or real, than the kind that strikes us like a lighting bolt out of the blue, sometimes for a person very wrong for us in other ways.

As for now...I guess we'll see. She doesn't love Rhett anymore, that much is clear. As for Charles ...if it he is sincere ...maybe?


	36. The Ball - Charlotte

_Thanks again for your wonderful reviews, your thoughts and insights on the plot and the characters. It's always a delight. Helen, Carol, LottieDahl and several others have asked for a flashback to the early days of Rhett and Scarlett's reconciliation, which I will try to get to in the next chapter. We also have a tea party to attend._

_For Catherine Scarlett, Miss Sincerely, Asline Nicole, AnnaPanag, LMS, WiwitDM, Anon, and guests…here is "The Ball". It will come in two separate pieces ….Rose, and Charlotte. This is Charlotte's piece, in which she finally meets the gentleman Thad had picked out for her. (It'll be a question whether her and his taste overlap.) In a future chapter, we'll do the Ball from Rose's POV, and there will be R&T. (I promise, gbella!)._

* * *

Charlotte was enjoying herself.

Her latent adventuresome side, which had sent her to enthusiastically explore foreign cities in Europe, was once more fully aroused. Her prominent nose was pressed against the window for much of the train ride, watching the countryside slide past. It was all she could do to keep from clapping in glee. This entire trip to the West had been unexpected, and delightful. For the first time in her life far away from the supervision of her elders, she felt light-hearted, and full of energy.

They had the comfortable first-class compartment to themselves. Ella, who for the first time in recent history showed a touch of animation on her cheeks, had very properly seated herself between Thad and Rose. Rose was also gazing out of the windows at the passing landscape. Unlike Charlotte, she seemed pensive.

The train crossed the San Jacinto River, and the streets of Houston came into view. As the train pulled into the depot, Charlotte's gaze tried to take in everything at once. Like many American cities, it, too was laid out on a grid – a very different effect from the meandering, narrow roads of Europe.

Thad helped them step outside. A liveried coachman with a carriage waited close by, ready to escort the ladies to their seats. He and Thad then transferred the luggage. The carriage was the first hint that Thad's style in the city was different from what he preferred at the Ranch. The horses' harness was gleaming and costly, even to Charlotte's untrained eyes. The carriage was dark blue, and lined with gold.

The city itself, Charlotte decided, was also impressive. Three, even four story office buildings were not uncommon, and the bustle of activity spoke of rebounding business after the collapse of the cattle boom. Charlotte craned her head this way and that. She felt not unlike the young Scarlett O'Hara had, the first time she had arrived in Atlanta. Here was a similar pulse of something new, and vital, in the air.

~~oo~~

It did not take them long to reach the townhouse. It was a three-story building, built in the Second Empire style. Charlotte sincerely admired the well-kept garden, the small towers, and the domed windows.

The inside, as she soon discovered, was decorated in the cheerful _Renaissance_ mode. The smooth, plastered walls were a warm, sandy color. The fireplaces were grey and white marble, topped with gold-framed mirrors. Frescoes covered the ceiling, separated into layers and panels by ceiling cornices. Ornate chandeliers added luster, despite the fact that gaslight already brightened every room. The elegant doorframes were ornately molded. Exquisite Persian carpets dotted the wood flooring. The entirely uniform design of the house proved it had not been organically assembled from different periods, over generations, like almost all the feudal townhouses Charlotte was accustomed to. This, while lovely to look at, had obviously been put together over a much shorter period of time, probably by an interior designer. Charlotte felt as if she were a visitor from the future, walking through a period museum. She would not have been able to put it thus to herself, but instinct told her its beauty lacked weight, and history, and dissonance.

From what appeared to be a preponderance of guest bedrooms in the second story, Thad assigned each of the girls their own domicile. Charlotte's room lay in between Rose's, and Ella's. Thad's personal rooms, he informed her in answer to her question, were on the upper floor. A more suspicious nature than Charlotte's might have questioned the closeness of Rose's room to the well-carpeted stairs.

After a light dinner, served in the dining room downstairs, well-trained maids appeared unsummoned from the interior, helping the girls settle in, and undress for their naps.

Charlotte found her excitement kept her from resting. She turned and turned in the four-poster bed, unable to even close her eyes.

Some time later, she sat with Rose and Ella in front of Ella's vanity, getting ready for the ball. All three girls had received new ball gowns from Rhett – amber-colored for Ella, pale yellow for Charlotte, and blue for Rose. Each, it soon appeared, had been individually designed to flatter each girl's face and figure.

"Daddy has excellent taste," Rose said, with satisfaction, as she petted Ella's gown into place. Even though her most dire predictions about the width of sleeves threatened to be outdistanced by this year's fashion, only Ella's gown actually sported large puffs at the shoulders, to make up for their narrowness. Charlotte, who was broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, had been given a gown with more than a remnant of a back bustle, and almost straight sleeves. The square décolleté nicely enhanced her bust, without making her appear overly top-heavy.

"You both look lovely." Rose pronounced with satisfaction, allowing the maid to pull her own blue gown over her head.

"_You_ look like a vision," Charlotte sighed, when the garment had been properly hung about her cousin's lithe frame. The light damask floated like a blue cloud about her, brightened by sparkling pearls reminiscent of dotted stars, turning her eyes into deep blue sapphires. The silver seashell claps gleamed softly. Two shell-shaped combs, studded with sapphires, completed the ensemble. "Thad's eyes will roll out of his head, when he sees you!"

As it turned out, Thad's eyes were not the only pair to roll out that evening.

~~oo~~

They made their entrance into the elegant ballroom at the strike of eight, warmly greeted by their hostess, a Mrs. Valerie Harper. She seemed genuinely delighted to see Thad, and if she was somewhat taken aback by his introduction of Rose as his fiancée, she did not show it. Charlotte, looking about her, decided the room would not have looked out of place in any of the upscale establishments of Charleston. The ballroom was Neo-Gothic in style, and enormous beneath its domed ceiling, large enough to fit two-to-three hundred couples. A string quartet had been hired to play, and refreshment tables liberally lined both velvet-hung walls.

The girls studied their dance cards. They were not familiar with any of the names, except for Thad's.

Thad, who seemed to know most of the people, introduced them to a whirlwind of faces that Charlotte forgot as soon as they were uttered. She danced vigorously with quite a few of the gentlemen, and was delighted when they flattered her outrageously. She did not know if this was simply the mode of the West, but she was enjoying herself. She did not suspect that her pedigree, and her family's wealth, had been extensively studied, and passed around, before she had even graced the doorway. She was also unaware that her delight was palpable, and infectious. Even Ella danced, though she seemed to spend most of her time in a circle of younger matrons, who chattered animatedly with her, as if they had known her for years. Charlotte did not consider the flush in her cousin's cheeks might not necessarily stem from the exercise.

During a break in the dancing, Charlotte spotted Thad by the side of the floor, speaking in a quick staccato to another unfamiliar gentleman, whose countenance she could not see. As she walked toward them, she heard the other man's reply, but could not make out the words. It appeared he conversed in an unusual dialect, that she had never heard before.

"There you are," Thad said, spotting her, and handing her glass of champagne. "Hugh Rittmeister - meet your next victim. _Ma chère cousine_ Charlotte. From Charleston."

Charlotte cast him a look, almost of confusion. _My cousin Charlotte_. It had never been said out loud, in company, before. No matter how familiar they had all become.

The other man turned towards her, and she felt a sudden flush rise to her cheeks. She couldn't recall meeting anyone quite like him – not in Charleston, and not here. He was above average in height, and solidly built. Ash blond tresses curled around his face, landing almost at his shoulders, not even perfunctorily held together at the back. Underneath bushy blonde brows gleamed a pair of eyes so pale it was difficult to assign them a color. He wore a full beard, not the pointed chin beard with mustache that she was accustomed to seeing in Charleston. The beard made it hard to determine his age. She tried to decide if he was handsome.

His tailcoat was brown, not black, as would have been the appropriate evening wear. It was also slightly scruffy. His waistcoat (which should have been light grey, or beige at the most) was an unusual, patterned burgundy. A modern long-tie, carelessly bound, added to the casual air of the ensemble. He might have dressed to go hiking in the mountainside, not to attend the most festive event of the Summer. She took a deep sip of her drink.

"Couldn't be more delighted," he replied, evenly, to Thad's introduction.

It could have been the inflictions of his dialect, but somehow, Charlotte didn't _quite_ think he meant it.

"Thad!" An auburn-haired lady called, making a beckoning gesture with her hand. "You simply _must_ play something for me during the intermission. I insist!" There were cries of agreement from bystanders, and scattered clapping.

Thad excused himself, walking the length of the room towards the Grand piano, and Charlotte was left alone with the odd-looking man. She took another sip of her drink, hoping it would fortify her.

After seating himself, Thad - apparently in a mood to show off - started with the _Scherzo_ from Beethoven's _Grand Sonata for the Hammer Piano_. As the notes percolated through the room, a crowd began to form around the piano.

Hugh Rittmeister did not seem inclined to speak, though they were far enough from the instrument to make conversation possible. Charlotte, who had been reared to a rigid pattern, could have made polite small-talk - but for reasons that would later escape her, she remained silent as well. Perhaps because she found his penetrating stare rather impolite.

"Charleston," Hugh finally said, as if he had never heard of such a place. "On the East coast, I gather."

Charlotte laughed. It was an unaffected laugh, filled with pure pleasure in the absurd. It was too amusing to hear her home-town thus described …. as something of little importance. In a way, she supposed it was.

The thick blonde brows went up at the sound. Charlotte noted he had an odd habit of shifting his weight - as if about to pounce, or to flee - that was at odds with his languid countenance.

"_You_ aren't from Houston," Charlotte said, suddenly. She was not familiar enough with Western speech-patterns to pinpoint _his_, but it was definitely not local.

"No. I was raised in….. the mountains of Nevada," he replied, diffidently. "But my mother was a Harper. _That creature_, there, is my cousin Veronica." He pointed to a full-figured, fox-haired little minx, who had draped herself around the piano in a decorative fashion.

Thad had ended the Scherzo, and begun to play a different tune, no less lively. The girl in question trilled a high-pitched, artificial giggle, tossing back her auburn hair. "She seems ….._ interested_ in Cousin Thad," Charlotte said, absent-mindedly, looking at them both.

Hugh threw her another look, this time more penetrating. "Indeed. Had been casting her net for him all of last Season. Until he suddenly left for the country for …._unknown reasons_, and did not return. Of course, now we know why." He cast his gaze about for Rose, who stood quietly in the circle of listeners. Her face was as _splendidly null_ as it had ever been.

"Are _you_ …musical?" Hugh asked. Charlotte had to strain her ears to understand him. It was almost as if he exaggerated his speech on purpose.

"Honestly – no," she said, frankly. His lips curled in something that might have been a smile on other people's faces. She wondered if he ever really smiled. "But I _do_ enjoy listening to the more modern songs! If only Cousin Thad would play something other than those dreary classical tunes, I…"

Hugh Rittmeister appeared almost startled. "He _couldn't_, of course."

"Why not?"

"Because of how it would appear."

Charlotte looked startled. "Why do you say that? I'm sure many people would like it _better_!"

He shook his head.

"Do explain what you mean. Please?"

"Thad is only half blue blood, and an illegitimate half at that," he clarified, as if surprised at himself for expanding. "Not only that, but he's rumored to have worked in …_.saloons_ in the past. Were he to play _that kind of music_ in company…" He left the sentence dangling.

Charlotte wore a mulish expression, fearful of being talked down to. But she was determined in her quest for comprehension. "I still don't understand. He's allowed to play classical music, but nothing…modern? Why should anyone care? _Everyone _plays piano."

"Everyone plays piano – but only a few people _play piano_. Those select few, who have achieved true mastery of the likes of Bach, and Mozart, and Chopin - form an aristocratic society all of their own. In every… upper class, there are a handful who belong to it -and they are usually the ones whose good opinion you want to cultivate. Here in Houston, it is my Aunt, Eugenie Harper." He pointed to the buxom, auburn-haired lady who had asked Thad to play. She was standing attentively next to the instrument, smiling the soft half-smile of those with no need to feign rapture. "And Emil LaCroix, over there." A strange little man, with a pointed chin beard, and a long mustache. "And Mathilde Boesendorfer." A slender, white-haired lady in an impossibly green frock. "Aunt Eugenie plays almost as well as Thad. You should listen to them do a four-handed piece, sometimes."

Charlotte made a noise she hoped sounded appreciative. Hugh threw her a languid gaze, and continued, "it's akin to a ….secret society. One of the few that can be joined on pure merit. And its members hold their hands …..protectively over their own."

"Why does it _matter_ if you can …._play piano_?"

He looked at her again. "Because it takes immeasurable patience, diligence,….. and _discipline_ to achieve that kind of mastery. And because you cannot hide your soul, when you play true music."

Charlotte attempted in vain to follow his logic, but gave up. Some things in life would have to remain a mystery.

Thad was playing something rapid-fire and lively – Brahms, had Charlotte known it- and suddenly, Veronica's rich alto filled the night-air.

_Nein, es ist nicht auszukommen_

_mit den Leuten;_

_Alles wissen sie so giftig_

_auszudeuten._

_Bin ich heiter, hegen soll ich_

_lose Triebe;_

_bin ich still, so heißts, ich wäre_

_irr aus Liebe._

"Liebesliederwalzer. Clever little minx," Hugh observed, languidly. "She has a pretty voice, and she knows it. And of course, she has been practicing daily, since she set her sights on Thad."

"Thad is _engaged_," Charlotte said, scandalized.

That earned her another stare. By the time the night was over, she'd have to examine herself for holes. "Engaged does not mean married."

With a thud, he fell out of charity with Charlotte. With charity went her tact, and her remaining interest in the topic of music. "Why are you dressed like that?"

He laughed for the first time. It sounded unused and raspy, as if he were choking on something. "Thad wasn't wrong about you."

"_Why_?" She rarely lost track of a question, unless she wanted to.

"Because I can afford it," he replied, at long last.

"If you can afford it, why not buy something _new_?"

He raised the bushy eyebrows. "Why _do_ people dress well?"

Charlotte looked puzzled. She had never thought about it. "Because they want ….other people to admire them?"

"Exactly."

"So you don't _care_ if other people admire you?"

"If you are blue-blooded enough, or rich enough ….people will admire you in spite of your dress." That was true, Charlotte thought. There were several people who dressed notoriously poorly in Charleston's _Ton_ as well, and people seemed to like them just fine. However, they were usually much _older._

"And which are you?"

"Both."

"Blue-blooded, and rich?"

"Blue-blooded on my mother's side. She was a Harper, as I've said. She ran off with my father of course, which could have ruined her …..until they found out he owned three silver mines in Nevada. Now, he is considered merely … eccentric."

"And Thad?"

"He's _here_, isn't he?" He cast an enigmatic look at his friend's back. "But it takes all of his grace in playing Schubert, his fortune, and his pretty face to make people forget he is…."

"A bastard?"

He chortled again. "Not merely that."

"I see," Charlotte said, with something like disgust. "If he were ugly, or didn't play so well, he wouldn't be accepted."

"Precisely."

"I thought he was your _friend_." She would never talk so about Rose, or Ella. Even if it were true.

"He is," Hugh replied, as if that had nothing to do with the matter.

"It's a good thing _I'm_ not illegitimate," she blurted out suddenly, as the thought struck her.

"I take it you don't play as well, then." His pale eyes glimmered with a curious, unaffected interest. It was disconcerting. He wasn't even particularly _cold_. Something vital about him was just …_not there._

"No." she said, icily. "And I'm also not….."

"Few of us are _quite_ as pretty as Thad. Although his little fiancée could probably give him a run for his money. Seems unfair, does it not? All that loveliness, _and_ blue-blooded to boot. If only she weren't so …complicated."

"Complicated?! Rose?" She had heard enough from this person. He was as rude and boorish as…..

"I think that's our cue," he suddenly said. She realized Thad had stopped playing, and the string quartet had once more taken up their dance tunes. _Then_ she remembered Hugh was on her card for the _quadrille_.

She thought briefly about leaving him standing in the middle of the room, but decided against it. After all, she did not want to embarrass Thad in front of his friends. Grudgingly allowing Hugh to take her arm, she subsequently discovered that he was a decent dancer, who guided her easily through the figures. When they stopped, he did not bring her back to the others right away, but stood once more staring at her. She colored, unsure of what to say.

"I think you'll do," he remarked, suddenly.

She started at the _non sequitur_. "Do for what?" She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and desperately tried to think of a plausible excuse to leave.

"I'm in the market for a wife," he remarked, as nonchalantly as if he were discussing the weather. Again, he was shifting his weight. "Thad implied you might be just what I was looking for." He looked her over again, like a cattle rancher would evaluate a potential bovine purchase. "I believe …..he may have been right."

Charlotte flushed beet red, from anger and humiliation. This was _not_ how she had envisioned her first proposal. "You're _in the market_ for a wife? Perhaps you'd like to examine my teeth, as well?"

"You're youngish," he said, sweeping her once more with that appraising glance, as if he knew it aggravated her. "I'll assume your teeth are fine." Charlotte sputtered, too enraged to think of a sharp retort. He watched her bluster in silence, before he added, "think it over. I hear your living situation isn't exactly ….comfortable, back in the East. You could do your own thing, here." He nodded, in mimicry of politeness, before he turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

~~oo~~

The dark night had fallen over the city. Hugh stepped onto through the double doors onto the veranda that ran the length of the house. A few garden crickets chirped, and a lone nightingale sang forlornly in the bushes by the fence. Against the back wall stood a shadow. "I thought you might be out here." There was no one else to listen, but if there had been, they might have heard the thick mountain dialect fall away, revealing the crisp, upper-class English accept of those who had spent their formative years in upscale British boarding schools.

"I needed fresh air," Thad replied. "Rose is dancing with Marvin."

"A most fortunate young lady," Hugh laughed. "Her toes will be black and blue by the time you get her back." Marvin was a friend of theirs, but was none the less ruthlessly ribbed for his defects, in the time-honored manner of male friendship. "If you're hiding out here, I take it my cousin Veronica is being... _difficult_? But then again, it was unlikely she would take quietly to your returning with a fiancée from the East, especially one so beautiful, and well-born to boot." He took a cigar-case out of his breast-pocket, and withdrew a slender cigar, which he proceeded to light. He did not bother to offer one to Thad. "And Elaine Patterson looked more than just a little heart-broken."

"I know," Thad said, grimacing. "There is, however, no other choice, if we are to live here. And there is no way I could have married Elaine, even if there had been no Rose. You known how the Pattersons are. " He looked at his friend. "You spoke with Charlotte."

"You were right. I think she will answer nicely." Hugh laughed. "She's no beauty, but not unpleasing to look at. And her figure is excellent. As you know, I've always been partial to tall, full-busted women." He cast a suggestive look at Thad, who did respond. "And as you told me, she says what she thinks, darn the consequences, and she's as easy to read as an open book. A most _refreshing_ quality in a woman. I agree - it even appears she has….principles. So I went ahead and proposed, but …..I don't know if I can persuade her to accept."

The black eyebrows went up. "You _proposed_? Half an hour after meeting her? Rather ….hasty, don't you think?"

"I tried _waiting_ before….and look where that got me. Emma needs a mother, before she gets completely out of control. And your judgment is usually better than mine, when it comes to women. Must be the….breadth of your experience with the weaker sex."

"You should rely on more than my judgment, when it comes to choosing _your_ wife."

"You're much more of a romantic than I am," Hugh said, languidly. "You always were. Perhaps because no woman ever left you voluntarily."

"One did," Thad murmured.

"I may stop by at the Ranch later this week, if it's all the same to you. I need to work on my new…prospect. And in the meantime, you might consider having me over for supper."

"Be my guest."

"Are you _sure _you don't want the blondie for yourself?" Hugh laughed. "That little curly-haired porcelain doll you're cultivating has more layers than the _Ricercar__ a 6_, which must be fatiguing over the long run – and even the short. Stunning to look at, of course, but all that will buy you is more competition. Before _and_ after she has your ring on her finger. But then you've always liked making things difficult for yourself."

"I would advise you to stop pursuing that subject. At least if you want that nose to remain unbroken."

"Touchy, are we not?" his friend laughed, with a hint of discomfort. He had seen Thad's temper explode before.

"Yes."

"Don't pull that face when you're _inside_," Hugh advised, with apparent lightness. "It might clue in my aunt Eugenie that your _Mozart_ is merely a veneer of civilization spread over a feral core."

"Don't _you_ forget it," Thad replied, in his most unsettling tone of voice. The one that had no inflection whatsoever.

"Don't worry. I have already added your fair lady to my short list of things that may not be mocked." Hugh added, more softly, "And I apologize for upsetting you. You know I don't mean half the things I say sometimes."

Thad's tense stance relaxed. "I ….apologize as well. I shouldn't have snapped your head off. I admit I'm feeling rather edgy, and defensive on that particular subject. My…..mother has been intolerably critical of Rose. For God knows what reason."

Hugh said nothing, for a moment, as if unsure how to handle such unaccustomed revelation. "Mothers and daughter-in-laws have a history of not getting along," he mused, finally. "My mother hated Allison. Of course, in _her_ case, it turned out she was quite right."

"It's more than that, unfortunately."

"Find out what it is," Hugh advised. "You're always telling _me_ most problems between people occur due to poor communication." He lightly slapped Thad on the shoulder. "_You_ can talk to anybody, if you want to. If it's not working here, it's because you don't."

Thad sighed, but played along. Perhaps to make up for his earlier rudeness. "Don't _what_?"

"Want to." The music was winding down. "We have to go back inside. The next dance will start soon."

Thad grimaced slightly. "I'm due to dance with Elaine."

"I don't envy you," Hugh said, softly. "If "nice" had been enough for you, and the Pattersons had been different people, she might have made you a decent wife."

"It never has been -and they aren't." Thad replied, firmly. A lone gas light burned by the door, a magnet for suicidal moths. As he stepped into its cone, for a brief moment, his face flamed to life. "You needn't worry, Hugh. I haven't lost my bearings over Rose's beauty, or even her name. I think….she will understand when things….roll out of the circle. And help chuck it back in."

"Good luck," Hugh uttered, as if in answer.

They went back inside, and the night was left once more to the crickets and the moths, its true owners. The lone gaslight was left burning. As the door closed behind them, the light-addled moths continued to circle around the flame.

* * *

_I loved Dixie's idea of a "key" for her chapter of Girl's World (and found it very helpful), so I will give one as well._

The _Ricercar__ a 6 is a fugue by JS Bach with six separate voices. Ordinary fugues have two-ish._

_Liebesliederwalzer is a song cycle by Brahms. For four handed piano, and four voices, but can be adapted for solos. Here is the translation of the one Veronica was singing._

"No, there's just no getting along

with people;

they always make such poisonous

interpretations of everything.

If I'm merry, they say I cherish

loose urges;

if I'm quiet, they say

I am crazed with love."

The term "classical music" goes back to the mid-1830s. Before our times, it mainly referred to the period from Johann Sebastian Bach to Beethoven, which was considered the Golden Age of Music. Charlotte, of course, might disagree.


	37. Pilgrim Souls

_Thank you for your thoughts on the last chapter. To those of you that commented it had an Austenesque feel, thank you, and "I wish!" Charlotte's ardent suitor is hopefully not as quite as unpleasant as he appears, but I totally agree his address needs work. A lot of work._

_HelenSES, DedicatedReader, and others who asked: This, believe it or not, is a flashback chapter. The format may be a bit odd, but it worked out that way somehow. I hope you enjoy._

_Some maturish themes are discussed in this chapter._

* * *

**When You are Old**

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

- W. B. Yeats

Thad slipped through the hallway of the large Mansion in downtown Houston, and disappeared around a corner into a secluded sitting room. Here, at the other side of the wall, was a cushioned window seat, shielded by dark red curtains. He knew this house intimately – it belonged to Wade's Uncle in law, Hugh Walker – and he had long been allowed the run of it.

He settled himself down, and withdrew the letter from his pocket. He had received his mail from the Ranch only this afternoon, and had had no chance to familiarize himself with its content. There was always, somewhere in his body, a gnawing fear that something had happened to Rose. Being educated, and given to sarcasm as a defense against feeling, he had named it _Níðhöggr._

Montpellier, France,

_August 15__th__, 1892_

_My dear Thad – _

_Your letter, with its encouraging sentiments, was much appreciated. It has been merely four weeks now that Scarlett has left, but our hearts have their own timekeepers, which can easily stretch a minute into a year, or an eternity. So it was during the War, when I could not be away from her side for long - before the vastness of her absence became overpowering, and would inevitably reel me back in; from France, or England, or Charleston, much like a fish on a hook. I am feeling it now, the pull of that invisible line, only much intensified by many years of happiness. My younger self would have cursed love. My older self knows enough to realize that pain is, inevitably, the part and parcel of joy._

Thad pushed himself back into the shadows of the alcove. He had found several such partitioned recesses scattered about, installed for the use of the Lady of the house, who enjoyed reading in solitude, while watching the songbirds flit by in the garden. Now, there was nothing but darkness on the other side of the windows. The Walkers were giving one of their famous soirees, with a speaker, and a topic. _The Mitosis of the Cell, _being discussed tonight, would normally have held his interest. But Veronica Harper had been at her most tiresome, and even her older brother Claude, an acolyte of the Greek form of love, had propositioned him twice already. Claude's attentions were almost as persistent as his sister's, and even more unwelcome.

_Rose has gone back to Scotland at my insistence, and Ella, Charlotte and Chase hover about me at hers - trying to persuade me to eat, or sleep. _

The horror of hearing that _Rose_ had been at the site of the monumental flood in the Alps washed over him once more. Primitive male possessiveness mingled with shame for not having been at her side.

_You asked about my children's early years, perhaps with Rose in mind, and I have been giving the subject much thought. As I attempt to walk the venerable streets of Montpellier, I have been trying to cast my mind back to the beginning - for beginnings often hold the entire germ from which the stories grow, and unfold. _

_So I will weave my story, like the Old Wives have done since time immemorial, from mother to daughter. "Once upon a time", they say, and so I say as well. _

_"Once upon a time, in the beginning, there was …. you."_

The brocade that concealed him was unexpectedly pushed back with determination. "Mr. Watling," a sour, female voice called. Thad cursed silently. Someone had found him after all. "May I have a word?"

He pushed his letter back into his pocket, and stood up, more to tower over the intruder, than from any particular feeling of chivalry.

The slight woman with the wispy brown hair that stood before him answered to the name of Odette Patterson. Her thin lips were pressed together disapprovingly. She disapproved of most things, and she disapproved of Thad more than others. She wasted no time with pleasantries. "As you may have heard, my daughter Elaine has refused her third eligible suitor this year. No amount of assurances will convince me that she is not refusing them on _your_ account. You must stop toying with her affections."

He continued to stare at her. He had never toyed with her daughter's affections, and this dried-out bat knew it just as well as he. Words rose to his mind, words from his days on the streets, that would have wiped the condescending smirk off her pinched visage. He valiantly suppressed even cruder impulses, that included his fist, and her teeth.

Instinct made her sway back a step, and something like cunning flared in her face as she backtracked, more from diplomacy than from conviction. "Even if you haven't precisely _encouraged_ her, you must know Elaine has developed a ….. _tendre_ for you." She did not add, 'as incredible as that may seem', but he read the sentiments easily, as they spilled from her eyes. "I am sure you don't wish to be the cause of her unhappiness, or an obstacle for her future. Clarity over your….lack of intentions would set her mind at ease."

Thad felt a violent burst of irritation – at Elaine, for not being more circumspect, at this cadaverous imitation of a woman held upright by nothing but pride. He saw the tentacles of death in her – the sallow skin, the quickening of her breath, the way she had pushed around the food on her plate, and winced during dinner. There was a growth inside of her, slowly moving outwards, gaining mastery over everything she had once believed she controlled. He pitied her, as the living pity the dying, but he had lived in proximity to death for too many years to believe in its redeeming qualities. She would die as she had lived, narrow-minded and unforgiving, and she would continue to despise him until the end.

He still said nothing. After staring at him steadily for another minute, she seemed to resign herself, and let the curtain drop. He heard her soft footsteps fade down the hallway.

He returned to his letter.

_Of course, all children are beginnings, and at the same time, ending. Endings of an epoch of life. A universal fact, you may rightly say, but one that had remained hidden from me, until you came along. You were the first creature that forced me to look beyond myself, and my immediate pleasures. The first person entirely dependent on me for survival. The first person to tie me to a city, to a place. I knew that I resented your for it. It took me much longer to realize I loved you for it, as well._

_In retrospect, it is perhaps not strange that the first person I loved, and resented, was a child._

Thad exhaled. They had, over the course of their lengthy correspondence, mutually agreed on frankness. But some truths still had the ability to cut to the core.

_What can I tell you about your birth that you don't know already, that might take the sting from such unsettling beginnings? _

Not much, Thad thought, and braced himself for whatever was to come.

_In 1858, I had just come back to Charleston from South America. My avowed object was to see my mother, and my younger sister, even over my father's objections. Less than five minutes after pushing open the double doors of Charleston's most popular Saloon, I was made aware that my brother Charles had got a young woman from our father's plantation 'i__n the family way', and washed his hands of the affair. I was mildly shocked, just as everyone else had been. Such dalliances were not the custom of my rather staid younger sibling. If it is any comfort, I believe he cared for Belle in his own manner – unless I am very much mistaken, it remained the only such incident in his life._

_A true gentleman,_ Thad thought, wryly.

_I tried speaking to Charles - to encourage him to do the right thing by his child, but he would not see me. No matter what he may have felt for Belle, or for you, it was not sufficient to own up to his short-comings in front of his wife, and perhaps, himself._

_So I made it my business to look up the unfortunate girl._

___It is tempting, here, to expand my tale, and crown myself with undeserved virtues, but I vowed to be a candid narrator, even to my detriment. Having escaped marriage and fatherhood for so long, I was not eager to step into the role of the guardian. Thus, my motives for stepping in were not entirely pure: _I wanted to prove myself morally superior to my brother, the darling of the Charleston establishment. I wanted to infuriate our father, for I was certain my meddling would be reported back to him. But there was also kinship – the kinship of one outcast to another – that united us, even before you were born.

_As you know, I found Belle, who was living under the most constrained circumstances, only a few months from her delivery. __Belle was still struggling to make sense of her downfall. Having been disowned by her father, she was forced - you know this already, but it will nonetheless pain you to hear it again – to work in a shady brothel in order to survive.__ A brothel that catered to, shall we say, rather diverse tastes. I gave her money, _found her a more comfortable apartment, and visited her regularly until you were born. It was the first time that I was a young woman's sole support, almost the provider for a family – a role that, for almost thirty years, I had studiously avoided. .

_I was able to spare her from having to work again until after you were born, and we agreed I would finance your education. She looked upon me as her hero and savior, the person who would give her child a better life. This was another novel experience. She asked for no money for herself – she had resigned herself that the world of brothels would be her lot – but she would not hear of a similar fate for you._

Thad felt a frisson of compassion for the frightened young girl his mother must have been, but pushed it back resolutely.

_I was not there during her labor, but I came by the next day to see the baby. I remember studying you. You looked so much like Charles, or how Charles may have looked, had he been the size of a kitten. A kitten with an impossible mop of black curls. You looked at me, or so I fancied, and your little fist curled around my finger. I vowed__ to provide for you, as long as you needed me._

"Mr. Watling." Thad looked up from the pages once more with irritation. Was there no end to the interruptions he would have to endure? He waited for a moment, and when nothing further happened, he himself pushed aside the red brocade.

A young girl in maidenly white tulle stood before him. She was fairly tall for her age, her hair a pleasing ash blonde, that gleamed with the sheen of polished wood. Her soft hazel eyes dominated a pretty, evenly cut face, with her mother's straight nose and thin lips.

"Mother told me that you wished to speak to me." He could hear the hope in her voice, and even without it, the faint flush that stained her cheeks would have betrayed her. He cursed Odette Patterson, and all debutantes, with equal measure.

He contemplated his options. Might as well deal with it now, rather than later. "Your mother is concerned about you, Elaine. She fears that you might have …..hopes ….that cannot answer."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, in embarrassment and disappointment. She did not pretend not to understand him. "I do not harbor such hopes." At his quizzical expression, she continued, bravely, "I know my family would never agree, and you are too good – too kind! to attempt to convince me to go against their wishes. But don't you see …that I cannot accept another man's hand, when I now know what it means to love?"

He resisted a facile and condescending comment on her youth, and merely said, as gently as he could, "Love comes in many forms, Elaine. Finding one that cannot answer does not mean you will never find another one that will." A platitude, and a poor one at that, but like most platitudes it contained a half-truth that might placate her, and make her go away.

She held up her neck, proudly, and smiled a wavering smile. "I will wait, then, until it happens for me." He watched her go, the demon of sympathy clawing at his heart. She was younger than even Rose, and facing the immanent loss of her mother. And who was he, really, to judge anyone for an inconvenient affection?

He returned to his seat, praying he would be able to finish the rest of his letter without further interruptions.

_Looking back, I regret not keeping you with me. Then, still in the throws of youth and bachelorhood, it seemed an impossible idea to tie myself down with a baby I was not really responsible for - or so I told myself. It seemed to make sense for you to stay with a neighbor of Belle's while she worked, and it also seemed to make sense to enroll you in a boarding school in New Orleans when you were five, and had started to ask questions._

_I told myself I would visit you often, and I convinced myself you lacked for nothing. Of course, we now know this was far from accurate._

And old, half-forgotten migraine pulsed at his temple like a drum. The memories of those first few weeks in the boarding school were as indelibly imprinted on him as the scars on his leg. When he had cried himself to sleep every night- only to be awoken by a band of tormentors when he finally did drift off. When it reached a point where he contemplated jumping from a third-story window, the abuse had suddenly eased. Not because of anything he did or did not do, but merely by the arrival of an even smaller, even newer boy named Kenny.

_My next child, or so I felt, was Ella. _

Thad was grateful for the shift in topic. Ella had always interested him. Perhaps because she, too seemed to belong to no one.

_Scarlett's marriage to Frank Kennedy had been a mistake, a horrible joke that the Fates had decided to visit upon me. Or so I firmly believed. She tried to conceal her condition from me as long as she could, but she did not know that I was watching her – always watching. That every change in her body, in her movements, in her face – no matter how minute – would immediately be apparent to me. I knew, I am convinced, almost before she did. And I wrestled over many sleepless nights with the images, now inescapable, of her in another man's bed. The torment was indescribable, even more so as I had to continue to play the rôle of the disinterested friend. Every instinct told me to flee, to put at least physical distance between myself and this torture. But I could not leave. The stubborn girl insisted on driving her buggy through the most dangerous parts of town, in the pursuit of the Mammon, or, as she herself would have put it, survival. So I stayed to protect her, no matter what the costs to my sanity. And the only way I could contrive to stay sane was by pretending the baby she was carrying was my own. _

Thad stopped reading, as another memory intruded. He was standing in Rhett's Villa in Charleston, hearing his young cousin Gerry cheerfully inform him Rose had accepted Beau Wilkes' proposal that very morning. He remembered the sensation of being eviscerated alive, of having his heart carved out of his chest by a deadly, casual blade. He attempted to imagine driving Rose about town, heavy with Beau Wilkes' child. Even in his imagination, the pain was unfathomable.

_And the child? I have always loved Ella with that same sense of love and obligation that she engendered in me before she was born. Once more, love and resentment became two sides of the same coin._

Ella. His father had daughters, but she was the closest thing he would ever have to a sister.

_Then there was Bonnie – the first child of my body. And hers._

His mind returned to that day in New Orleans. The little girl in the dirty blue dress. Rhett's helpless pride.

_I was secretly elated when Scarlett told me she was with child, although I successfully strove to keep it from her. Just as I kept everything about me hidden from her, at least everything that mattered. Bonnie's very existence was a trick, a connivance. I knew Scarlett did not want children, and I knew she did not want mine anymore than the next man's. However, I kept from her the existence of such methods that might have prevented their arrival in this imperfect world. I wanted a child by her. I wanted Ashley Wilkes to have tangible, irrefutable proof that she was mine. I wanted to relive that fantasy that I had when she was carrying Ella, only this time, the baby would truly be mine, and she would be sleeping in my bed. I wanted, for once, to revel in a pregnancy. _

_Of course, I had deluded myself._

_One always does, _Thad thought.

_On a much deeper level, I wanted our child. Born of my love, if not hers. Something of both of us to go into the future, and announce to the world and future generations that I had once held her body, if not her heart._

_But revel in the pregnancy, I could not. I was watching her again, only this time, I was watching her because I hoped against hope that this baby would change things. I searched for sigs of love, and found only irritation. When she announced her pregnancy, she also threatened to cut Bonnie from her womb. I never lost my fear that she might do something desperate, and die from a botched abortion over this child that I had forced on her. No, my boy – it was not the sublime experience I had hoped for._

_I'm sure it wasn't. _Thad had firm opinions about Rhett's contributions to the failure of his marriage, but he had to acknowledge how heart-breaking it must have been to provide the woman he loved with every material comfort, but still be forced to live with the shadow of another man in her heart.

_Once Bonnie was born, it was as if the world had shifted on its axis once more. I had a beautiful, perfect daughter. I fell in love, utterly and completely, for the second time in my life. All the more deeply because I was beginning to lose hope that Scarlett would ever return my affections. So I focused the entire force of my adoration on our daughter. The blending of our gametes became a substitute for the blending of our hearts and spirits that I craved. If Scarlett would not love me, Bonnie did. And in return, I loved her fiercely, and unwisely. You know to what end._

The little girl in the blue dress danced in his mind again. But he could not be sure if he remembered her accurately, or if Rose's face had long ago superseded her true features. Perhaps it had been she, after all, who had paid the steepest price for their collective folly.

_Then came the child whose existence I knew of merely for a minute before it was ripped from me. The child Scarlett lost through her fall on the stairs. The fall that I had provoked through my careless words – words that meant to infuriate. Words that killed._

_I still wonder about that child. At night, when I cannot fall asleep, it sometimes comes to me, that little soul that I denied life. I wonder if it would have been a girl, or a boy. I wonder if it would have changed the trajectory of things, had I known that she wanted it. For she did want it – amazingly enough, for once, she wanted my child. Although I did not find out about it until much later. Too late, I thought. But I was wrong. It is never too late for those kinds of revelations. It helps its restless ghost to know that it was wanted, or so I tell myself, when its small light flits through my dreams._

Thad tried to imagine a child of his, and Rose. He tried to imagine losing it. He couldn't.

_Then, there was Rose. Rose, who had come too soon._

_Not for me,_ he thought. _She came almost too late, for me._

_Rose was conceived before I had a chance to establish a firm position vis-à-vis further children. Every instinct rebelled against it. Against opening myself up once more to the possibility of such agony. I told myself that we needed to wait in any case –until our future was more certain, until our relationship had proven, or disproven, itself as durable enough to bear the weight of such a decision._

_But then there was that night in the cabin in Colorado, that night of the anniversary of Bonnie's death. I was almost paralyzed by pain – even more than usual – and I was careless. There was a unique irony attached to the thought that the sister who looked so much like her was conceived one year to the day Bonnie had left this earth. It added to the muddle of my feelings towards the growing baby. Over time, the plethora of emotions in my heart boiled down to one tangible focus – fear. Fear for Scarlett's health, first and foremost. I could still hear the agonizing screams in my mind after her fall from the stairs, and her miscarriage. _

_Strangely enough, it was an easy pregnancy. She was overjoyed. It thrilled me to see her so happy to carry my child, but it thrilled me only because of her, of us. I did not extend that thrill to the new life between us. If anything, I resented it, that it would break up that budding, new-found intimacy between myself and Scarlett. On a deeper level, I feared loving Rose would kill her, just as I had killed Bonnie, or that loosing her as well would kill me._

Thad stopped reading for a moment, and looked through the curtains. The sitting-room was empty. He got up, and paced about the room several times, unable to contain his need for motion. In some ways, Rhett's account of Rose's conception and birth was more difficult to read than his own. He had, over the years, built up a multitude of defenses against the grief inherent in his biography. He had no such defenses against the image of a dark-haired little girl whose father did not want her.

_After a five year break came the twins. Another unexpected pregnancy. Scarlett was overjoyed. She had always wanted more children with me, although to her credit she never pushed the subject beyond stating her preference, when it came up. _

_This pregnancy, her sixth, was difficult from the start. Months of protracted nausea. Early cramping, and some spotting. I was frantic with worry, seeing her become pale, and listless. I could not fathom the thought of losing her. _

_Rose, a bristly five-year old, became even more bristly during that time. If it had not been for Ella, who took her on walks by the beach, and let her sleep in her room, I am not sure what would have happened. It gives me no pleasure to admit that I did little to ease her burden, in my total and utter preoccupation with Scarlett. Instead, I suggested sending her away for a few months, until after the baby had been born. I justified myself that she would be happier elsewhere, but in truth I could not bear those huge, terrified eyes, that bespoke of all of my darkest fears. Scarlett was too weak to fight me. You very kindly offered to take Rose, although I did not feel the kindness at the time. I intended to send her to Charleston, to my family. Which Scarlett, and Rose herself, resisted. Finally, I was forced to agree._

He remembered her arrival. She had stepped out of the carriage, holding the hands of James, her father's most trusted servant. She wore a sensible grey travelling dress, her hair in two thick braids down her back. A brown cap completed the ensemble.

"Hello, Cousin Thad." He had almost smiled at the gravity, and had formally shaken her hand. She was a quaint little thing. He had settled her into the bedroom next to his own, the same one that he would years later give to her brother Perry during his extended stay.

She did not weep, except at night, in her dreams. That first night, she had woken him, screaming. "Mother, Mother. Please don't die. Mother!"

He had set himself by her bed, and tried to calm her. She would not permit herself to be held, but she grabbed his hand, and pressed it, until her knuckles were almost white. Eventually, she had fallen asleep again, without ever releasing her grasp.

He had had her with him for three months, during which time she gradually emerged from her shell. Having heard that her mother had given birth to healthy twins, and was out of danger, she had seemed almost reluctant to go home.

_When the twins were born, after a remarkably easy delivery, I was surprised at how little ambivalence I felt. Perhaps it was because they were boys. Perhaps the months of fear and anticipation had primed me. But when my dear friend Dr. Harrison placed first one, then the other into my arms, I felt nothing but vast, overpowering love._

Rhett _had_ done well by the boys. Thad couldn't imagine a more cheerful, self-possessed trio of youngsters.

___And as I watched Scarlett recover, I saw something in her distend, exhale, when she saw me with the twins. It was only thus I learned that she, too had been holding her breath._

_Then there was Gerry. Our bonus child. My gift from the Gods. A happy pregnancy. An easy delivery. A healthy baby. Finally, everything was exactly as I had dreamed it could be. I was able to experience the joy of having the woman I love carry my child, and know without a shadow of a doubt that she felt the same, for all her occasional grumbling about her waistline. Every new change in her body was magical, and sensual. Feeling the child move for the first time, miraculous. The bond, the intensity, between us was indescribable. There is, perhaps, no experience on earth that is quite like it._

_Perhaps my biggest mistake, in retrospect, was not speaking aloud to Scarlett the extent of my delight. "Once upon a time", my tale can be summed up, "Once upon a time, there was a coward." The small portion of my mind that was still distrustful to admit that I had once more, whole-heartedly, placed my fate into her hands, advised caution. And it was that uncertainty about my true feelings that compelled Scarlett to move our family back to Charleston. Leading to your physical separation from Rose, and ultimately to me, sitting here in the hotel room in Montpellier, striving desperately to pass the days until I can return to Tara, and see Scarlett again._

_If you can learn anything from my history Thad – be brave. When you see Rose once more - and you will- don't let fear, or what you believe to be caution, prevent you from telling her what is in your heart. Regrets are such poor company during a long, lonely night._

_With those words of wisdom, I intend to retire for the night, to find what rest I can. But believe that I shall always remain, as I sign myself,_

_Your affectionate Uncle_

_Rhett_

Thad folded the letter, and put it back into his pocket. He sat immobile for a minute or two, before he rose, and walked slowly back to the large drawing-room in the East Wing of the house. The lecture was apparently coming to an end. Without a sound, he slipped back to join the crowd, who was clapping generously. Claude winked at him. Veronica slid off her seat to beat a path to his side. He felt his body bracing itself, as it had many years ago when the other boys at school had set out to find his breaking point.

But his true thoughts were with Rhett in France, where they hovered, before sliding many many years into the past.

* * *

_Níðhöggr is the creature (in some versions, the serpent) that gnaws one of the roots of the tree Yggdrasill in Norse mythology. Those roots may be holding back the beast from the world (best not to gnaw them all the way through then, sayz I)._

_Mitosis is the separation of chromosomes into two separate but identical sets, the first step in cell division and replication. A hot topic in the late 1800s, which lead to a greater understanding of heredity._

_"The chromosomes are independent individuals which retain their independence even in the resting nucleus. Based on this assumption, Boveri has formulated the theory of heredity: The scaffold of every nucleus consists of a certain number of individuals, one half of which are descendents of the paternal chromosomes and the other are descendents ofthe maternal chromosomes of the egg. He has concluded, as Van Beneden and Weismann did before, that a reduction by half must occur in the number of nuclear elements prior to fertilization" _[Hertwig, O. 1890. Vergleich der Ei- und Samenbildung bei Nematoden. Eine Grundlage fur cellulare Streitfragen.)


	38. Hunters and Warriors

_Thanks, everyone, for your lovely reviews, and your prods. I'm very sorry this chapter was so long in the making. My last month of residency has been kicking a$$ - I've been working 7 am to midnight on most days. I hope it will get better. This chapter is raw, as in, hasn't been edited much, but I didn't want to make you wait even longer for the tea party. I hope you enjoy – and feel for Scarlett for having her gene pool intermingled with the likes of Rhett Butler._

* * *

Scarlett woke before Rhett on Sunday morning – an event that was almost unheard of, and was in itself an indication of her unquiet mind. She allowed herself to luxuriate in the soft sheets for a few more minutes, before pushing herself up with purpose. Her dark hair was in tangles, and her nimble fingers began the daily ritual of smoothing it into place. She looked down at Rhett, at the sharp plains of his face, the still-thick hair, now salt-and-pepper in color. Her lips curved into a slightly self-congratulatory smile. It had been quite ingenious of her younger self to marry a man who carried his age so well.

Swinging herself out of bed, she pulled on a simple, floral-patterned wrapper, and made her way into the kitchen. She could hear the faint noises of the cattle, and the men outside. Inside the house, there was the clatter of silver, and the quick sound of the servants' footsteps readying the house for another day. The rhythm of life at the Ranch reminded her of Tara; the carefree, determined Tara of before the War, and was unconsciously soothing.

Belle was already in the large kitchen, the throbbing heart of the house, drinking her coffee. Scarlett had expected, indeed even hoped to see her there. Surprisingly, Charles Butler was there as well, seated at the round table across from Belle, leafing through a newspaper. Something about the casual, domestic intimacy of their posture struck Scarlett as odd.

"Good morning," she announced, to the room at large.

They greeted her cordially. Scarlett felt as though she had interrupted something. To cover her confusion, she nodded to the maid, who poured coffee into a dainty porcelain cup, and set it in front of her with a flourish.

"I will need Mary to help dress me for church," Scarlett told Belle, in answer to her expectant look. Since the Ranch was more than adequately staffed, they had left their servants behind in Charleston for a well-earned break. Scarlett watched the maid leave the room, and stiffened her shoulders for the inevitable as she added, "And you and I need ….to talk. In private."

There was a glimmer of interest in Charles Butler's eyes, eyes that darted to Belle's face, and back to Scarlett. Belle looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Perhaps a walk by the pastures," Scarlett suggested, raising her eyebrows at Charles as she took a long drink of her coffee. He twisted his lips into the ghost of a smirk. Belle, apparently resigned, rose from the table. She was already dressed in her Sunday finery, ready for church. "Not right this minute," Scarlett said, imperviously, setting down her cup with a clash. It would not do to have this conversation while still in her wrapper. "I will meet you outside in thirty minutes, after Mary has helped me dress." She would have breakfast later, when her stomach was less unsettled.

Belle nodded, sitting back down, and watched Scarlett sweep from the room. "Time to pay the piper," Charles said, not unkindly, looking at Belle with Rhett's black eyes. The hot, bustling years of Atlanta passed through her mind like a never-ending freight train.

She sighed, heavily, and sat back down, tossing back her hair. There was a strange mixture of servility and mulishness in the gesture that was not lost on Charles, and he smiled with something like appreciation. In a manner of speaking, _she_ had been his Scarlett: A creature of will, too proud and determined to go under when her world collapsed around her. In her own way, she had survived, even flourished. Like, perhaps, his brother, Charles admired stubborn grit in a woman more than the cerebral irony he saw personified by his niece Rose. Had he been in Thad's position, he would have chosen Charlotte.

"It ain't right," Belle muttered, shaking her head once more.

~~oo~~

Little more than half an hour later, Scarlett and Belle were making their way through the pasture trail. It was a fine, dewy morning, the acid humidity of late May yet hidden behind scattered, puffy clouds. Scarlett had taken care with her dress, and her hair, wearing an ensemble more than usually adorned with lace and pearls. Instinct had compelled her to puff up her status before this woman whose lack of taste equaled her own, but who would be impressed by the shimmering triple rows held together by a large emerald clasp surrounded by diamonds.

Finally, she stopped, turning herself around. She had conducted thousands of business negotiations, and this was no different. It was, she thought, unfortunate that she was smaller than Belle, but her regal posture and her straight neck more than compensated for the difference in height.

"You will remember that you owe me a debt," Scarlett started suddenly, taking the other woman off guard. As she had intended, Belle looked cowed. "_Your son's life_." Scarlett paused to let the words sink in. "Had I not brought Dr. Harrison, Thad would have died, of the bullet or of wound infection. You said as much yourself, that night you came to our house."

Belle bowed her head. She, too was a shrewd businesswoman, and aware that she held no hand at all in these negotiations. She awaited her verdict in silence.

Scarlett studied her. Watched her squirm like the White Trash women in Atlanta had squirmed before her insults, and especially Rhett's. Under any other circumstance, she would have felt compassion. Now, she merely saw Belle's discomfort as a means to an end. "You will stop making things difficult for Thad and Rose," Scarlett pronounced, every bit a queen passing judgment on a supplicant.

Belle knew she was beaten even as she opened her mouth in a last, feeble protest. "You _can't_ wan 'er to marry 'im. Rose kin have …anyone. She should have ….someone from Charleston. Someone like…..."

Class barriers, after all, were the property of the lower classes as much as the upper stratosphere. Belle had a _right_ to insist Thad and Rose were not fitted for each other.

"She wants Thad."

Belle dropped her eyes. She knew, by the sinking feeling in her stomach, that she was here by Scarlett's grace as much as by Thad's. Should Scarlett see it fit to invoke ancient grief, her chance of remaining at the Ranch, or in the life of her son, were slim to none. Furthermore, she was quite right. She _did_ owe her a debt. The most profound debt one woman could possibly owe to another.

"I won't interfere no more. An' keep my opinion to myself," Belle muttered, darkly. "It still ain't fittin' though. The likes of 'er marrying the likes of 'im." She hoped Scarlett would believe that she, Belle, thought Rose too far above her son to make for a successful marriage, but from the shrewd look the other woman gave her, she could tell Scarlett was not the least bit deceived. However, she also did not appear enraged.

"_I_ think they will be very happy," Scarlett pronounced, cheerfully. She even petted her shoulder encouragingly, all smiles now that her objective had been achieved.

Belle sighed, albeit internally. She would do her best to call Gina off. She would fulfill her obligations, and her duty. However, it was highly unlikely Gina would _allow_ herself to be called off. A bit unstable, Gina was. Especially if thwarted.

And that, after all, would not be Belle's fault.

~~oo~~

The drive to Church was remarkable only for the four Native boys that sat, in almost identical intervals, underneath large Ash trees that lined the roads. Scarlett had paid the first one no heed, but the second one raised eyebrows, and after the third and the fourth, she asked Rhett what in Dickens he thought they were doing. Her husband had studied the boys with his infuriatingly calm, penetrating gaze, and then had returned his black eyes to hers, with a glimmer of something alert and wary that Scarlett could not have recognized, because she had not seen him when he had been a soldier fighting in the War.

"Sentinels," he murmured, as if to himself.

She would have asked him to explain, had twenty-six years of marriage not taught her when questions would prove futile.

Two hours later, they were waiting in front of the church for the carriages to drive them back to the Ranch. Scarlett had taken the time to inspect the skinny, strawberry blonde girl that had sung the solo, this time without the absent Thad.

There was nothing about her that Scarlett would have expected to grab a boy's - her boy's - imagination. The girl had almost no figure, her small nose was dusted with freckles, and she looked uncomfortable in her staid church dress, and her ruthlessly pulled back hair. Only her voice was sweet and lilting, and Scarlett surprised her son staring at her with a slightly agape mouth as she sang. The girl, as best Scarlett could tell, did not return her son's tender feelings. At times, she almost fancied she was glowering at them.

Despite her best intentions, she had forgotten to let Rhett know about the Baker's invitation, what - she told herself - with all the drama concerning Belle and Rose. So one can only imagine the depth of embarrassment she was forced to plunge when the Baker and his wife came up to them after the ceremony to thank them, profusely, for the honor they had bestowed on them by accepting their invitation.

"Stella has talked of nothing else all week", the Baker's wife chirped mendaciously, but brightly. "So delighted!" She was a plump, fair-faced woman, her skin naturally rosy, and her hat laden with a neck-bending array of flowers. It sat conspicuously like a satisfied spider on top of hair which had probably once been the same strawberry blonde as her daughter's, but was now streaked liberally with premature grey.

Rhett, who was a remarkably quick study, merely raised his eyebrows at his wife.

"The ….delight is entirely …..ours," he drawled, and Scarlett, flushed red, wished to sink beneath the floor-boards. "We are equally anticipating this afternoon's ….tea?" He turned to Scarlett, and she could see the decided twinkle his eyes. "It _was_ tea, was it not, my love? One grows so forgetful with old age."

"Fiddle dee dee," Scarlett said, with just the right amount of wifely reproof in her voice. "My husband and I will be there with the boys at four! And we cannot wait to make the acquaintance of…" What _was_ the chit's name, again?

"Stella, Madam," the schoolmistress replied, pulling forward her daughter, who did her best to resist. When her mother prodded her, Stella mumbled something that could have been a greeting, but kept her eyes firmly trained on the floor. "A bit shy," her mother explained, hurriedly.

Rhett smiled. "Shy? I can see that. Just like my sons." He called to Gerry, who had been testing out the acoustics of the church by letting out a fairly decent imitation of the Rebel Yell. The Baker's wife nodded her confused assent. When the boys joined them, and the introductions had been completed, Rhett lifted his hat most urbanely, and ushered his family into the carriages.

When they had closed the doors, and the horses pulled forward, Scarlett bestowed an anxious glance at her husband. "You are not …angry, Rhett, are you? I _swear_ I meant to tell you, but first one thing and then another drove it out of my mind!"

"I could ask for no better entertainment this afternoon than tea at the Bakers," he told Scarlett, the entire mirth of the situation painted plainly over his visage. "It will be ….a novel experience, and at my age, novel experiences are few and far between."

He leaned back comfortably, still grinning. Scarlett, who in reality had no idea what had caused this expansive mood, looked relieved. Perry looked star-struck, Dan impassive.

Gerry rolled his eyes.

~~oo~~

At four ten, the horses trotted once more through the dusty Main Street, to deliver the Mr. Rhett Butlers to the Griffin Residence. Rhett had expected the anxiousness with which their arrival had been anticipated. The parlor, newly decorated with fresh flowers, spoke of a week of determined cleaning. The young maid who had answered the door wore a formal uniform, reminiscent of feudal English country estates. By her unhappy look, she felt herself to be something of a caricature.

Scarlett cast another look at Rhett. His unholy glee seemed to be rising to dangerous proportions.

Mrs. Griffin ushered them into the parlor, where tea and other refreshments were waiting. As one would expect in the parlor of a baker, the amount of cakes, pastries, muffins and other deserts left nothing to be desired. Stella, still in her Sunday's best, had been seated next to Perry, who was still young enough to satisfy his cravings for cherry pie before feasting his eyes on her.

The conversation between the young people did not quite flourish. Stella, who had been compelled to the invitation without her consent, stared down at her plate, or, at best, addressed one of her younger sisters. Perry, who was by nature neither shy nor introverted, did not quite know what to say. He was not yet experienced enough to guess at what topics a young girl might be interested in. He tried talking about Charleston, or Europe, as he had seen Rose do with Thad, and drew a blank. He jumped to several other topics, watching her with the intent concentration his father had always had available for the inner workings of the other gender. None of them met her approval, if her offhanded answers were anything to go by.

"I have a pig named Stripes at the Ranch," he finally said, running out of ideas. Strangely enough, that caught her attention.

"You do?" The blue eyes regarded him narrowly, but with the first spark of interest he had ever inspired. Perry was elated.

"I saved him when he was just a piglet," he expanded, happily. "Hid him in the carriage house, so Cousin Thad couldn't turn him into bacon. After all, he was my _friend_." He laid particular, hopeful emphasis on that last word. It had the desired result. She turned fully towards him, causing her mother to exclaim how _well _they were all getting along.

Unfortunately, the remark immediately returned Stella to all of her former sullenness. Her father, desperate for something to break the impasse, suddenly said, "Stella love, why don't you take the young gentlemen in the pony carriage and show them the Injun pool? Right pretty there, and cooler under them trees than in here. Come back in an hour and let us grown-ups talk."

Stella obeyed, if somewhat ungraciously. Perry, Dan and Gerry followed her outside, where a liveried coach-man was waiting beside a shaggy pony hitched before a buggy that had probably once been used to deliver pies. One could still see faint writing under the emperor-blue coat that had been freshly applied.

"He looks funny," Gerry remarked. He, more than any of the others, had noted the incongruity between the driver and his vehicle.

"That's John," Stella explained, with a dismissive wave at the older man. "Drives my parent's pie wagon. Mother made him wear one of Mrs. Brown's uniforms, from when her husband was workin' for rich people in ….." she paused, realizing she did not know. " …somewhere." She tossed the yellow tresses, which flared rich gold in the sunlight. "She wants you to think we're like _you."_

"_Our_ drivers don't dress up funny like that," Perry wondered, the subtleties of her remark lost on him. He had not been privy to the many nighttime conversations she had had to endure. _This is your chance, Stella. _With the unspoken undertone_, our chance._

They got into the wagon, and John, no happier to be wearing the uniform than his young mistress was to see him in it, clucked to the pony. The poorly sprung buggy rumbled around the street, but the boys looked about themselves happily. The weather was nice, and they were young, and had a whole life before them.

Stella, eschewing the more traditional sight-seeing points, told John to turn into a narrow road, that lead out of the town into the hills, and was soon lost under the foliage of high Pine trees. About half a mile further, the road suddenly opened into a glimmering blue pool underneath large grey rocks.

"Stop", Stella ordered. Before the shaky vehicle had come to a full stop, she had already jumped out, depriving Perry of the opportunity to offer her his hand. The other boys followed, for once more sedately.

"The Injun Pool," Stella announced, with a vague, sweeping gesture that encompassed her surroundings. It was immediately obvious why the water hole carried that name. A group of Native boys, dark and slender like seals, had assembled at the far shore of the small lake. They were standing in a circle, paying the newcomers no heed. They were staring at something on the ground before them, occasionally prodding it with sticks.

"Let's go look what's going on," Perry said, excitedly. He briefly forgot the girl by his side in his quest for adventure. He ran forward, easily pulling ahead of the others with his long strides.

As he broke into the ring of the other young boys, he saw what it was that had captured their interest. A young bobcat kitten, obviously injured, was sitting on the ground before them. One leg had been chewed off, either virtue of a larger predator, or perhaps a metal trap. The boys were prodding at it with sticks. The small cat, obviously in terror of its life, attempted to growl and scratch at its tormentors. Millennia of evolution had honed both boys and cat into their mutual roles, and Perry, too, felt the hunting instinct pounding in his temple at the sight of this small, injured adversary. He looked around for a stick.

The others had caught up. "Oh, the poor thing", Stella remarked, horrified. Her voice drew the bloodlust from Perry's brain like a siphon.

"Uhm, well," he said, trying to gather his bearings. The other boys looked at him with faint derision, as if they understood the nature of his dilemma. Before he could make up his mind, another voice, also male, but older, broke in. It called out words, hard guttural words, in a language the white children could not understand, but ones that the Native boys obeyed immediately. Heads hung, and, without further argument, they trotted off in a tight pack.

A young Native man, chronologically only a few years older than the twins, materialized out of the trees.

"I am Okla," he said by the way of greeting, in perfectly articulate English.

"Perry Butler. _Sir_." There was something about the young man that Perry couldn't identify, something his father or cousin might have called the dignity of office. They all instinctively stood up straighter. "My brothers Dan, and Gerry. And our …friend, Stella Griffin."

Okla smiled at them in turn. Then, he knelt down beside the kitten. It was not yet particularly big, but larger than a domestic kitten of similar age. Its three remaining paws were large and padded, and the distinctive tail that gave the name to the breed was short and bobbed. Tawny eyes with round black pupils looked out of a fierce little face with striped markings between the ears. "Hurt," he said, in his soft, modulated voice. "But no longer bleeding." Whatever inflicted the injury had effectively staunched the blood flow, as well.

Stella's hand was reaching out involuntarily, as if to pet the kitten. A brown hand fell on her arm. "Not tame yet," Okla admonished, gently. He pulled a woven blanket from around his shoulders, and wrapped the growling kitten into it, so that no more than the head was showing. Sitting on the ground, he then placed it between his knees, and rubbed the injured leg with a black salve from a bag attached to his belt. The kitten, thus immobilized, could neither bite nor scratch, and resorted to growling impotently. The nature of the sounds it made, more than anything, declared it to be feral.

When Okla was done, he looked up at the children. "We cannot leave him to die", he said, gently. "If he has no care, we must kill him quickly, before another animal finds him."

"No!" Stella exclaimed, horrified. "We can't! It's only a _baby_."

"We will take him home," Perry announced, blissfully aware of his chance to appear as a hero, and not about to let it pass. "Give him to me!" He held out his arms for the kitten, which glared at him. He took the kitten, and the blanket, with a gentleness that belied his age, pressing it carefully against his chest. He was not about to give the sharp claws any more room to move than necessary.

Okla almost smiled. "Bobcats may become tame when they are caught young enough," he agreed, gently. "But he will always require a lot of caution, because he was born to the Wild. And he will need a lot of care, before he is better."

"We'll take good care of him", Dan nodded, loathe to appear as interested as he was. A bobcat was a creature that he had not had in his keeping before, and he was eager to learn more about them.

"Mother will kill you," Gerry said, shaking his head at all of them. Whatever suspicions he may previously have had about his brothers' mental state were now confirmed. "You can't take home a _bobcat_. It's _dangerous_."

"It's only a kitten," Perry announced, grandly. His daring was greatly inflated by the admiring look in the young girl's eyes. "And it has only _three legs_. It won't be able to hunt, will it? _Or_ chase anything. We can keep it in the stable next to Stripes."

"If Cousin Thad hasn't made bacon out of Stripes, _that thing_ will."

"He's only a baby," Stella repeated, reprovingly. She tried to take the kitten out of Perry's arm, but drew back when it yowled at her. Perry saw that the cat's reaction only increased his standing in her eyes, and he almost kissed the furry head in jubilation.

Okla's eyes held them, one by one, as if testing their mettle. Finally, he nodded. "Put this on his leg twice a day," he told Dan, handing him the wooden container that held the black salve. "Feed him ground meats and water. And take care."

He watched them as they made their way back to the buggy. The kitten, having surrounded his life to the God of Bobcats, hid his head in the blanket, and ceased to struggle. John, the driver, raised his eyebrows at them, but asked no questions.

"Don't come crying to me when he _bites_," Gerry announced, as he settled himself on his seat.

"You were _brave_," Stella said to Perry, paying his brother no heed. "Can I come visit him?" She looked longingly at the kitten.

"It was nothing," Perry said, grandly. "And of course you can visit him. Come to the Ranch, when he's settled in." Things were going even better than he had hoped.

The kitten barely stirred during the remainder of the ride back. Stella proved to be an animated companion, providing an interesting perspective on life in this town, and the goings-on at the Ranch from the perspective of an outsider. Her uncle Vince, Perry learned, was one of Thad's men.

It was only when they pulled up in front of the Bakery that Perry gave a second thought to his mother's reaction.

He took a look at the kitten, whose pointy ears were emerging from the blanket. They were starting to develop black tufts. "Oh well," he thought. "_Dad_ will understand!"


	39. The Ball - Rose

_Residency is over! And I have a new job that starts Wednesday. So two days off, and time to write! Yay! Thank you, lovely reviewers, as well as and those that pm'ed to discuss the last chapter. Here, we have the ball from Rose's perspective. I hope you enjoy._

_Edit to add A/N: I realized this chapter does require a key. One of those things that are entirely clear in my head, but much less clear on paper. ;-) The theme (I usually have one) is the many things that separate lovers who want nothing more than to be close. It can be looks (Rose is beautiful, so she can become a canvas for projection, instead of a real person). Society (the meddlers, both for good and for ill, at the Ball). "Work" - as symbolized by Thad's Piano playing. Gender roles (becoming what you are expected to become, instead of what you really are, as Rose realizes during the dance). And Gender itself - especially then, but even now, the world of men and and the world of woman aren't identical. The end, harsh as it was in some ways, was actually optimistic. Rose realizes she can only bridge all of those divisions by talking to him (see how this works, Rhett?), and they navigate a compromise, where he gets the physical closeness he needs, without damaging her._

_Ella cries because she catches the strong emotion between them, and it permits her to let out her own grief, which she's desperately tried to hold back, especially after hearing about all her former friends and their children._

_Does that make sense?_

* * *

Charlotte and Ella, splendid in yellow and amber, descended the large staircase first. Thad, dressed in the black tailcoat, light waistcoat and white, high-collard shirt that made up the proper gentleman's evening attire, was already waiting for them below. The two girls were laughing, and there was a carefree, festive mood in the air.

Rose followed shortly afterwards, and as he turned to watch her descent, Thad was as if transported from his elegant townhouse into a fairy-tale for children. The light of the chandeliers picked up the blue in her dress, and flung it into her eyes. Her skin was white, her hair as black as ebony, and her lips as red as blood. The forge of grief and joy she had passed through over the last few years had hammered her form into grace. Walking down the stairs, she was as Snow White in her coffin, the poison apple piece in her throat, her moment of timeless beauty suspended for eternity behind translucent crystal.

Thad's gaze held her briefly, and then fell to the floor. Not being blind, he had always known Rose was beautiful. But it had been an attribute no weightier to him than the color of her eyes, or the texture of her hair. He had never lost her in it. He had never seen her like _this_, at once more, and much less than herself, as an archetype and a metaphor: Queen, Goddess, _Mother_. He felt serf-and orphan-blood clamor within him, and with its surging red tide came resentment.

He held out his hand, mechanically, and for the first time in years, his heart did not sing at her touch.

~~oo~~

The carriage ride was lively, mainly due to the excited, anticipatory chatter of Charlotte and Ella.

Rose held on tightly to his arm as they walked into the ballroom, and in the look she gave him - irony, detachment, and adoration - he found his Rose again. In his relief, he did not hear the audible gasp that went around the room at her loveliness.

He led them over to the night's hostess, Mrs. Valerie Harper.

Rose stood calmly before her, and allowed herself to be studied. The older woman's rich auburn hair was only occasionally streaked with grey, and her hazel eyes seemed almost of the same color in the candlelight. Her movements were crisp, and her smile bright, and genuine.

Thad introduced Ella, who was married, and then Charlotte, the senior in age. Only then did he turn to Rose. "Mrs. Valerie Harper – may I introduce my fiancée, Miss Rose Butler."

There was a spark of surprise in the woman's eyes, but it did not diminish the warmth in her smile. "So delighted you could come! I only regret the dear Mr. _Rhett _Butlers were not able to make it as well. We would have loved to see them again. They have been much missed, since they've moved to the East." She smiled benignly once more, and released them to the crowd.

Rose looked around. By Charlestonian standards, this was a medium-sized ball, and neither its size nor its standard of elegance were daunting to the cousins.

A group of young matrons almost immediately descended on Ella, and led her away with them. They had been her particular friends during her days as a young débutante in Houston. Rose, who had been worried her sister would be bored, or shy, allowed her vigil to relax. Charlotte left briefly to discover the delicacies arranged on the buffet. Most of those present seemed to know Thad, and almost all of them seemed to desire an introduction to his ravishing young fiancée. Rose sensed the reserve underneath their welcoming demeanor, and did not blame them. Some, she guessed, resented her for removing one of the most eligible bachelors from the matrimonial market, while others might question her family's standing for allowing her to wed one such as Thad.

The latter sentiments were easily discernible in the eyes of three thin-lipped sisters, of indiscernible middle age, and equally washed-out hair. They had a young woman with them, whom they introduced as their niece, Elaine.

"Mr. Watling," they nodded coolly in response to the greeting. It was obvious to Rose that Thad liked them as little as they liked him.

"So this is your fiancée," one of the women said, with a disagreeable smile. She focused her attention on Rose. "Who are your parents, my dear? Do they ….._approve_?"

Rose started slightly at the rudeness. "My parents are very happy," she replied, her delicate swallow-shaped brows arched.

"I can see why they would be," the young girl inserted, and in her gaze there was heartbreak. Conversation did not flourish, and Rose was not sad when they excused themselves shortly afterwards.

Another woman, whose thick auburn tresses and hazel eyes proclaimed her a close relation to their host, came rushing up to them in their wake.

"Thad!" she cried, with all the accents of genuine fondness. "How callus of you to keep us in the dark, and how lovely to bring us your fiancée." Her voice was as lilting as music, and the hands that clasped Rose's were warm, and firm. Rose found herself smiling back, feeling, perhaps, as her father must have felt, when he first encountered Melanie Wilkes' gentle eyes at the Bazaar in Atlanta.

"Dearest girl! What a delight to finally meet you. We were quite friendly with your parents whenever they were in town, but _you_ were of course not out yet. You are your mother all over again, my dear! And your dress is simply…. divine!" And then, as if an afterthought, she added, "May I present you my daughter, Veronica." The full-figured, fox-haired young girl beside her, whose tresses were more red than brown, cast hostile glances at Rose, and barely nodded to her before concentrating all her attention on Thad.

"You and I are to dance the reel together," she announced, batting her long eyelashes in what she believed was a captivating manner. She held up an empty flute. "Oh! See! I have run out of champagne!"

Thad good-naturedly took the hint, and excused himself. Veronica shot Rose a look of triumph, and followed him.

Rose made a half-hearted attempt to despise her, but saw only the same child-like, captivating narcissism that had made her mother such a successful young Belle.

Mrs. Harper laughed a warm, tinkling laugh. "You will marry Thad," she said, irrepressible vivacity glittering on her features like a million dewdrops. Rose was surprised, especially in view of her daughter's conduct.

Mrs. Harper laughed. "You are wondering why I _should _be delighted, considering Veronica's ….interest in Thad, and you're asking yourself if I am, perhaps, one of those stuffy people who hold his illegitimacy against him." She smiled even wider at the brief expression of shock on Rose's face. "No, no. Believe me, I am neither dull, nor stuffy. Had they been right for each other, nothing would have pleased me more than a match between them, but they were not. Now, having met you, I can see why that is so."

"What makes you say that?" Rose asked. She appeared rather cold and disinterested – it was a trick of her perfectly regular features. Mrs. Harper did not take offense.

"Thad does not self-regulate well," the older woman said, gently. "He shall need _you_ to help him."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Mrs Harper asked, with an air that the uninitiated might have taken for confusion. "But you have seen it, I'm sure. There are men who can delight in a woman like a flower, and be perfectly content that she will never know his mind, as long as she loves him, and him only. For someone like Thad – that would not be enough, would it?" She let out something like a small laugh. "What an entirely odd conversation to have with someone I've just met! But I feel like I've known you since the beginning of time, my dear, and that you will grasp whatever it is that I tell you. And that is what I mean, don't you see? You can …understand him, and when the top spins out of control, you will whip it right back into the circle." She ran her hand through the thick hair. "Oh dear! Now I am really talking nonsense! Here are Thad, and Hugh. You must forgive me for speaking out of turn!" She turned once again, and gave Rose a last smile. "You see, Thad and I play music together!"

Rose heard it for what it was, a declaration of kinship. It disconcerted her more than the daughter's conspicuous flirting.

Thad introduced her to his companion. "My friend, Hugh Rittmeister." From the quick smile he bestowed on the other man, Rose deduced he was a close friend. "I apologize for running off again, but I must talk business to Mr. Glennan over there. I'll be right back. Hugh, I trust you to look after Rose for me." He turned, leaving the two to study each other.

She beheld a pair of pale blue eyes under bushy brows. Thad's friend was well built, though purposefully and expensively underdressed, after the manner of those who wish to affront their noble origins, without simultaneously renouncing their impact. She had seen some of those same traits in her father, and never admired them much.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet Thad's Rose," Hugh said, conversationally. "He has told me much about you." The heavy Mountain accent made him difficult to understand, and the pale eyes that raked over her were devoid of warmth, and full of unspoken judgments. Prosecutor's eyes, Wade had called them, whenever he saw such an expression in a man, or a woman.

It was a relief, at least, that Mr. Rittmeister did not seem at all taken with her beauty.

"The pleasure is mine," she murmured politely, though it was not.

"I must admit, seeing you here tonight is a bit of a surprise. I thought Thad would never get around to introducing us." The tone of his voice intended to let her know it had not been something he'd lost much sleep over.

Rose noted the peculiar vowel sound in "thought", formed as she had heard it formed for over two years on the Continent. "You were educated in England," Rose said, perhaps hoping to throw him off balance. "I can hear it in your voice. Why do you bother with the dialect?"

He laughed, and his voice changed. "Caught out, I'm afraid. Thad will have to beware, with a wife with such penetration."

She caught the implication, and flushed. He seemed conscious of the fact that he had badly blundered. "My lady…..I didn't mean….."

"I know exactly what you meant," she said, coolly. She was Rose Butler – related to the Butlers of Charleston, and the Robillards of Savannah. It was not a mask she used often, but it would serve her here, amongst these coarse strangers, who could not even feign common politeness when courtesy required it of them.

Strangely enough, he seemed amused. "Not cowed easily, are you? Good!"

She smiled the ironic smile of her youth, the one that covered her pain. "Not by _pretension_, no. Not your kind, or theirs." Her glance touched the three thin-lipped aunts of Miss Elaine Patterson, standing by the dance floor. "Although _theirs_ is perhaps more candid, and thus, more easily forgiven." She lifted her eyebrows at him, before she turned, and walked away.

Had she turned, she might have seen him stare after her.

~~oo~~

Rose stood with the others in the circle around the black Grand Piano, watching Thad play.

Ludwig van Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 29 in B-flat major, Op. 106, arguably one of the most difficult pieces of sheet music ever written for the instrument, pearled brightly through the night air. Thad's fingers dashed through the brief second movements like a school of dolphins skimming through the water. As thoroughly as Rose had disappeared into her beauty, Thad now disappeared into Beethoven, and afterwards, submerged into Schubert, and Brahms. He no longer _hers_ - he belonged to Eugenie Harper, and the strange little Frenchman, and to the white-haired Mrs. Boesendorfer. And to all the world.

The little redhead writhing about the piano did not see it, even as she lifted her voice to join him in the _Liebesliederwalzer_. Nor did Elaine Patterson, whose blue eyes were feasting hopelessly on his face.

When he rose, and the strains of the Waltz filled the room, he walked towards Rose. There was a quizzical expression in his eyes. "Is everything all right?" She put her head to one side, trying to ascertain if _all of him_ had returned from the structure of the music.

"I lost you," she murmured, softly. But she allowed him to take her hand, and lead her to the floor.

He availed himself of the opportunity to pull her close that the dance afforded him. "You could never lose me," he murmured, softly.

Her eyes gave him the lie. His hand tightened around hers in response, and she allowed his sense of rhythm to flood her again, as it had years ago in a ballroom in Charleston. Here was another way she could lose him, she thought, by losing the sharp edges of herself, by becoming, simply, female to his male.

She tried not to think.

~~oo~~

On the ride back home, Charlotte was every bit as animated as earlier in the evening, but this time it was not from anticipation. Rose undulated between shock and surprise when she heard Thad's ill-mannered friend had not only made Charlotte an offer of matrimony, but had apparently done so with Thad's expressed approval, and encouragement.

Thad listened patiently to the fullness of Charlotte's displeasure, which expanded in scope as the carriage rolled down the quiet, dark streets of Houston. When she restarted her arguments from the beginning, he held up his hand.

"You will perhaps think better of him when you get to know him more closely. I cannot say I approve of his manners tonight, but he is not usually this disagreeable. I have invited him to spend time with us, and if you still dislike him then, I have nothing more to say."

The finality in his tone silenced the girls. Rose could see that he was ill at ease, whether by Charlotte's indignation, or his friend's boorish behavior, it was difficult to say. Or perhaps, she thought, with the cynicism born of long years of practice, he was wondering how he would _take _in society, now that the carrot of bestowing his millions upon one of their daughters had been removed from his arsenal.

It was Ella who, innocently enough, gave voice to the thought, when Thad asked her how she had enjoyed the evening. "Very much! It was lovely to see all my friends again, and hear about their families, and…and….the children!" She smiled waveringly, and bravely continued. "But they did not seem altogether happy when I told them about your engagement, cousin Thad. It was so strange, but some of them looked almost …..angry!" She shook her reddish curls in bewilderment.

It was only then that he caught the strange, watchful expression in Rose's eyes, and his lips curled into something akin to disgust.

They finished the rest of the ride in silence.

~~oo~~

The others had gone to bed. Rose, too, had gone to bed at the same time as Ella, only to slip out ten minutes later, and descend back downstairs. She knew he would be waiting for her.

Thad stood at the far end of the elegant drawing room as she entered. He came up to her, then turned, and paced the entire length of the room, before returning to where she stood. Rose watched him with a strange, cold compassion, a thin sheet of ice overlaying the deep well of her self-contempt.

"I'm sorry," she offered, because she must.

"You should be," he replied, with barely suppressed savagery. He twisted his body around like a whip, his hand grabbing ahold of her arm. "I never cared about this ….any of this….except for _you."_

There was no mistaking his sincerity. She suddenly felt lighter. "I know. It's just that …..for me …..trust comes hard." Before the contrition in her eyes, he exhaled, and released her.

"I am sorry, too," he said, his dusky voice giving away none of the tension he had betrayed only moments ago. But Rose was not fooled. She had watched him from childhood, and knew his postures. She knew the tightness of the jaw, and of the fist, and the tension in his neck. Then, it had not been hers to ease.

Now, things were different. She was a trained physician, but she did not know if she would have the nerve to ask him what she needed to know.

The Gods of the Night were kind. From an unknown wellspring, her mother's courage flooded through her, and for once, she did not harness it to the service of her father's pride.

"What would you do, now, if I were not here?"

Thad did not answer. Her gaze fell on a side-table with a bowel of delicate Chinese porcelain, depicting a dragon, one claw raised, mouth open, its forked red tongue extended outward like twin serpents. Its other foot rested possessively on the round Orb of the World.

Rose squared her shoulders, as Scarlett had done that night in Belle's establishment, when she had realized that her entire world was little more than an amusing puppet-show put on for children. Reality - the world of men - was infinitely distant from that small, brightly lit theatre. Infinitely distant, and dark.

Thad took in the gesture, and whatever had animated him drained into the floorboards like sand out of an hourglass. He held up his hand. "Rose …."

She shook her head with determination. "Thad. I can …."

His voice was blacker still than the night. "No, Rose. You _cannot_. I meant what I said a few days ago, when you came into my room. This is neither the time, nor the place." With an attempt at levity that was as counterfeit as the smile on his lips, he added, softly, "I have never had any intention of feeding you to the wolves. Even if that wolf were me."

She took a step towards him, and placed her hands on his lapels. There was no seduction in her eyes. Instead, the gesture was strangely touching, and terrifyingly intimate. He had regained enough of his composure to remain still, as if she were a doe that would dart back into the thicket if startled.

"What is it that ….calms you?"

He raised his brows, showing that he did not quite understand.

"When you go to ….those women," she clarified, with an effort. Not, as he may have imagined, because of the coarseness of the act itself, but because she realized that nothing could bridge them now but words. "When you are …_with_ them. Which part ….calms you?"

He understood her, now, even if he did not have an answer. "I've never thought about it."

"_Do_," she commanded. She stepped back from him, and was again regal, and remote.

He turned to the fireplace, his nerveless hands ordering the kindling with the tongues, as he had done that day in the cabin in the woods, calling forth light. She waited.

After an infinitesimal time, he turned back around, and stood up. "Touch …..I suppose. The contact with a woman's skin."

He knew what she would say before her eyes sparked with comprehension. "_We_ can touch."

He spoke down to her, as one would to a child. "Rose ….if we …undress….."

"I didn't mean that," she interrupted, somewhat haughtily. "I understand ….I understand! I meant….we could sit over there, on the sofa. Dressed as we are. And you could put your hands, here." She lifted her small fingers, and pressed them beneath her neck, into the bare skin of her décolleté. Briefly, her fingertips pushed downwards, leaving behind indented crescents in the ivory.

"Rose…."

She walked over to the sofa in an unspoken challenge. He made a noise, almost like a sigh, but he sat down, and pulled her next to him. She leaned her light frame against his shoulder. He spread his hands in the air, and she drew in her breath. When she exhaled, they had already descended heavily onto her skin. She felt their weight, and like her own, his fingers briefly curled inwards, marking her with his nails. Then, he pushed them forward with a sudden thrust, the first joints of his fingers gliding underneath the stiff fabric of the corset that masked the soft curve of her breasts. She felt them rest there, her heart beating rapidly beneath their scalding heat, certain he would, after all, take her up on her first offer. But to her surprise, he did not move. She felt his warm breath stir on her neck, rising and falling, like silver night between them.

After some time, the fire stopped flickering, and nothing but red embers were left in the grate.

~~oo~~

So Ella found them, perhaps half an hour later, barely silhouetted by the dying blaze. They were as motionless, not the flicker of an eyelid betraying that they were more than statues, or figures out of an oil painting by Rembrandt. Ella stared at them for a long time, and had she been a conventional chaperone, their closeness, and the position of Thad's hands would have caused her to cry out in outraged modesty, rousing the house. But she didn't. She only stood in the shadows, and watched them.

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked away the minutes of the night, and still Ella did not stir. To her surprise, tears silently streamed down her face, and would not stop.


	40. Selkie

_Thank you, lovely reviewers for your thoughts on the last chapter. Thanks especially to dedicated reader for the push. Looking back, I think the last was too heavy on allegory and too light on narrative, which made it hard to follow without the key. This one I hope will be easier. Rose/Thad, and Hugh comes for supper._

_Mature-ish content._

* * *

It had been a hot, sweaty morning in Houston. Rose had driven about town with Thad, first visiting their patient in the hospital, then spending fatiguing hours at the Texas Medical Licensing Board, to discover what additional exams she would have to pass in order to be able to practice in the state.

Both visits had been fruitful - and aggravating - in their own way. The Native girl and her husband were installed in a private room at the City hospital. There had been no further episodes of bleeding. The girl herself seemed in decent spirits, and her husband resigned to remaining in the city until her delivery. From the tone of the words they exchanged with Thad, Rose gathered they were content and grateful, if not happy to be away from home for so long. Thad had hired a nurse to attend them, and Rose was able to speak with the surgeon assigned to their case, and assure herself of his skills. She took the opportunity to be introduced to his colleagues, knowing that such connections would help her in her future career in the city.

"If all goes well, we will go in and get the baby in two weeks," the surgeon told her, after the others had left. "By then, the lungs should be sufficiently developed, and to wait any longer is to risk hemorrhage." He looked at Thad, and then back at Rose. "Has a lot of visitors, that one. Considering who she is."

Seeing Thad's face twitch, Rose quickly added, "her husband works on my fiancé's Ranch. Naturally, we take an interest."

"Nothing natural about it, " the other doctor laughed. "Not many people'd have spent money on such as her, never mind _that much_ money. But each to his own." He beamed at them, and Rose realized their charity had lowered them in his eyes.

Rose saw Thad's arm flex, and put a restraining hand on his sleeve. "Yes," she replied, coolly. "Each to his own." She tugged on Thad's sleeves, turned on her heels and left, career opportunities be damned.

The licensing board brought its own set of frustrations. They were shown in, and, after hearing her case, told to wait. And wait.

After several employees held lengthy deliberations and perused countless volumes of papers, she was told they would defer the oral boards and allow her to practice after her year in Philadelphia, which was better than she had expected. But it had brought up another unresolved issue.

"We have yet to talk about Philadelphia," she had told Thad cautiously on their way home. "I will still want to go, you know."

"Of course," he had said readily, and much to her surprise. She had thought he would attempt to dissuade her. "We won't be able to marry until the adoption goes through, and even then my work is flexible enough to permit lengthy absences. We can take a house in Philadelphia, and I can travel back West when I must."

Rose smiled at him. Marrying an unconventional man had many advantages. Without thinking, she voiced the thought.

Thad had shot her a look through half-lowered lashes. "There are other advantages as well," he murmured.

Rose flushed, miffed that it still took so little to fluster her. She glanced at Thad. Unless she was very much mistaken, there was a gleam in his eyes.

~~oo~~

It was naptime. Charlotte and Ella were presumably asleep, and a buzzing quiet had descended on the house with the noon heat. Rose walked silently through the hallway, and looked around the staircase. There was no one. With sudden impulse, she turned left, and ran up the flights to the third story, her heels never touching the carpet. She had never seen the upper floor in all the many times she had been a visitor in this house. She wondered, now, if it had been deliberately kept hidden from her.

At the top, there was a hallway with four doors: besides the master bedroom, she imagined they concealed a dressing room, a sitting room, and perhaps a private office. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she wondered what she would say to the maid, if she met one. Or, for that matter, to Thad.

She turned into the first room. It was larger than she had imagined, and clearly the master suite, dominated by a dark four-post bed in the center. It was unoccupied. She paused, and looked about.

Her first thought was that it resembled Thad's bedroom at the ranch. The furniture was black mahogany, simply cut, the carpets a plain off-white. The wallpaper was the only elaborate and ornate feature, oriental in design, depicting panels of branches surrounded by black herons, and pale white cockerels, cranes, pheasants and ducks. Over the bed hung an intricately carved African ceremonial mask– Nigerian ebony, which Rose had no way of knowing. The side table contained a black dancer of the same glossy material, at its feet lay volumes of books. She stepped closer, and randomly picked up one. _La Princesse de Clèves. How apt, _she thought ironically_. _She dropped the volume back down with a thud.

She peeked through an adjourning door into an equally sparse sitting room. A Baby Grand Piano nestled under large double windows overlooking the back gardens. She briefly asked herself why he would keep such an instrument here, where there would be no one to hear him play. She grimaced at the implications. She withdrew herself back into the bedroom, and turned to survey the other side of the chamber.

There was no framed art, with the exception of a large oil painting on the wall directly across from the foot of the bed. As she walked up to it, her eyes widened in surprise.

She heard footsteps behind her. For a moment, no one spoke.

"How do you like it," Thad murmured, finally. It was not immediately apparent to her whether there was any embarrassment in his voice.

She turned her head and looked at him. He wore his customary black trousers and white shirt, now partially unbuttoned at the neck, showing the thick black hair underneath. His necktie was loose, and his hair still wind-blown from their drive.

"I don't know," she answered, truthfully. She twisted her head to look at it again. Belatedly, she realized the painting had its uses, if only by distracting from her own culpability of intruding into his rooms uninvited.

It wasn't, strictly speaking, an _improper_ oil paining. It was an almost life-size depiction of a young woman, nude from the waist up, her slender form half turned away from the observer. All that remained visible was the smooth line of her back, and the outline of a full breast. Her profile was overshadowed by the mass of black curls that fell down her spine.

"Is she…"

"You?" Thad said, now fully entering the room, and standing before her. "Yes. In a manner of speaking. I had her drawn from photographs by a local artist. Obviously, _some things_ were the result of my imagination." He shot her an ironic glance as she raised her eyebrows at him. "What you see is a compromise between my wish to respect the woman I hoped would become my wife, and my desire to have something more …..explicit , for lack of a better word, to look at. When the girl I couldn't stop thinking about wasn't even on the same continent as I was."

Rose flushed. "When did you have this done?" She dropped down on the bed, her gaze wandering between Thad and the portrait.

He shrugged. "Some years ago. After I came back from Charleston." He saw her contemplative expression, and sat down next to her. "Rose …..if there's something you want to ask me, do. I promise I will answer you as truthfully as I can."

She ran a hand through the same mass of curls that the portrait depicted, pushing them back from her face. She remembered the Baby Grand Piano in the sitting room. "I suppose I am wondering if ….."

"If I ever bring other women up here?" he finished for her. "No, Rose. The only woman who has ever been here in this room with me is you, in my imagination." At her obvious disbelief, he added, "you may have heard rumors, but my habits have never been as profligate as you may think."

The look she shot him was clearly doubtful.

He pushed back his hair as well, as if repeating her nervous gesture. "You know how I grew up, Rose," he said, finally. "Consorting with my mother's brand of women has always been …..extremely distasteful to me."

It took all the studied nonchalance of two sordid years of medical practice to continue her line of questioning. "Surely you are not trying to imply that you remained ..celibate for all these years." It would have been a futile, at any rate, especially in light of last night's revelations.

"No. I am not."

"So you are telling me you kept ….mistresses," she said, with a painful attempt to remain aloof. "Somehow, that does not make things easier."

"Yes. I kept mistresses." He stood up again, his movements as soft as rainwater.

"How many?"

An almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. "You don't really need to know."

"I do," she asserted, with rising wrath. "I not only want to know how many, but I want to know their _names_. I do not want to run into one of them at some social function or other, and be unaware that they know my fiancé – or heavens forbid, my husband – much more intimately than I do." She had a sudden, unpleasant flashback to Belle Watling, and the years of history _that woman_ had shared with her father. Her mother, thought Rose, was a much more forgiving person than she herself.

Thad caught both the look and the thought, and his features contorted into a half-smirk. "I don't choose my mistresses amongst women of society."

"How am I to know?" Rose flared. "I know next to nothing of that aspect of your life!"

"I believe," he said ironically, "that that is how most men keep it." He added, softly, "but I am not most men, and you are not most women, Rosey, as I am well aware. And it was, after all, I who insisted on frankness." He once more pushed back the lock of hair that had a habit of falling onto his forehead. "What is it that you want from me? A list?"

"No," she said, coldly. "I don't need a list, as long as there is no one I may inadvertently meet at a tea party." She inhaled, and then expelled her breath in a long, low whistle. "How many in the last …..two years?"

He answered her after only a brief moment of hesitation. "Two."

She smiled mockingly, to hide her disturbance. "Only two?"

He nodded affirmatively. "Yes. One here in Houston, one back in town by the Ranch."

"Someone I've had the good fortune to meet already, perhaps?" Her eyebrows lifted her features into her father's refined, poisonous irony.

"Perhaps," he murmured, thinking of Charlotte's tête-à-tête with Gina. "But neither of them are of any consequence. Nor would you run into them in day-to-day life." He considered telling her of Gina's pregnancy, but thought the better of it. The situation was already volatile enough.

"Did you see them often?" demanded his small interrogator.

He turned his head, towards the window, or simply away.

"Thad…."

"Not often," he replied, unwillingly.

"Why?" she asked, somewhat derisively. "I assume you pay them generously to be …available? I can't imagine you…allowing them to see other customers, and somehow I cannot see you let an investment lay ….barren."

He showed no pleasure at the adroit double-entendre. "I had thought the answer would be obvious."

"I see," she said, more harshly than she had intended. "You saw them so rarely out of a sense of loyalty to me." She knew she was being unreasonable – that, in fact, her entire line of questioning was unreasonable. After all, there had been no commitment between them. She could find no rational way of justifying even to herself that the thought of him with another woman after their dance in Charleston stung like betrayal.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, and stood her up, almost shaking her. "Yes," he whispered, his voice almost a hiss. "I saw them so rarely out of a sense of loyalty to you. Even though I told myself a million times that I was nothing better than a besotted fool. That I should enjoy the spoils that money, and position, had finally offered me, and throw myself into the life I'd denied myself for so long."

"Thad," she murmured, "you're hurting me."

He released her, and on his face there was something like shame.

Rose was not finished. "You will have to stop seeing them," she said, haughtily.

This time, she saw him flinch. "That was rather a low blow, Rose." He paced across the room, before coming back to stand before her. "For your information, I broke off with one of them almost a year ago, and informed the other during my last trip to Houston that her services would no longer be required."

She was relieved, but was too proud to show it. Instead, she merely shifted the focus of her assault. "Why did you keep them at all?"

Thad suddenly grabbed her shoulders again, and pushed her against the wall, beneath a black heron singing on a branch covered with cherry blossoms. His large hands cleared her face of its dark curtain. Rose remained motionless, allowing him to take her lips, noting, with what remained of her conscious mind, that the most valuable spoils of experience was his complete absence of haste. Each soft motion was slowed, each searing touch was magnified and expanded. Rose felt a strange weakness flood through her body. Her knees buckled beneath her, and had he not supported her, she would have fallen. Finally, with infinite slowness, his lips slid down the white column of her neck, until his warm breath knocked against the delicate, u-shaped junction between the clavicles and the sternum.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered against that sensual indentation. His raspy tongue flickered out against her salt-covered skin, tasting her, as if lapping up the rapid pounding of her pulse. "Nothing matters anymore, when I am here with you. You have eyes like the sky and your skin taste like sea-water. Mermaid, Selkie – whatever name you go by, I will always be under your spell." Warmth flooded her body, and there was a tightness in her chest. She wondered if she would die.

However, her resolve was unbroken. _"I want to know."_

He pulled his body away, removing his warmth. She slumped back against the wall.

"You really don't understand. But then, how could you." She noted, for the first time, that he could change from passion to business as quickly as if a switch had been flipped, and wondered if this was true for all of his sex. "I could give you the conventional answer about men, and their irrepressible needs, and there'd even be some measure of truth to that. But that would be less than half of the truth."

She waited, barely drawing a breath.

"You know how I was raised, Rose. Those years left ….marks, some of which you can see, most of which you can't." She thought of the scars on his leg she had seen that night in his room, and with the memories came other, more confusing images, of the shape of his thigh, and the hard planes of his chest. "It doesn't happen often anymore, but when certain ….memories resurface, losing myself in a woman's touch is about the only thing that helps push them away."

She had to blink to rid herself of the images her mind had conjured up, and focus on his words. His meaning washed over her, and with it, a strange, almost tangible regret. "I'm very sorry," she said, careful to let no pity seep into her voice.

"It wasn't your fault," he replied, softly. "And it would have been much worse, but for loving you. Building a life worthy of you gave me direction, and the incentive to put the past behind me. " She felt his smirk as his hands tightened on her frame possessively. "Minx, Vixen - my life was a merry hell after Charleston. Too many nights I lay alone in this bed, dreaming of our dance, re-imagining that moment in the hallway. What if I'd kissed you? What if I'd gone to your room? And now I have you, here, alone - and keeping myself away from you is becoming harder by the minute."

Turning in his arms, she saw tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, and with the rush of confidence a hint of deviltry came into her eyes.

She leaned forward, allowing her full breasts to spill into his hand. "Who said you must stay away?" He made a sound like a groan, and Rose's lips curved into a smirk. She was exhilarated by her power, or perhaps by his weakness. She reached up to cup his face.

"Rose…"

"Be quiet," she murmured, and pulled his lips down to hers. He did hold still then, briefly permitting the intoxicating, virginal exploration. Something like an electric jerk went through his body when she touched her tongue against his.

"Rose." He pulled his body away this time, and caught her wrists firmly with his hands.

"Spoilsport," she muttered. She slithered from his grasp, and lay herself back onto the bed, twisting her body into an adorable persiflage of Goya's _Nude Maya_, knees and hips slightly bent, her hands joined together over her head. The black curls cascaded about the pillows, her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. In this position, her ample curves were on magnificent display. Her red lips, swollen from their kisses, were drawn into a pout. She truly looked like a selkie, sea-born, heedless, eternally tempting.

She saw him swallow hoarsely as he watched her. "God, girl. Keep this up, and you will drive me completely and utterly insane."

He turned, and for a heartbeat she feared she had gone to far, and he would leave the room. Instead, he pulled the door closed. She heard the click as he turned the key.

Then he came towards her, and by the look in his eye, she knew their game had ended.

~~oo~~

Later that night, Hugh Rittmeister presented himself for the informal supper at Thad Watling's townhouse in the company of his daughter, Emma. The other girls were surprised, for Thad had told them nothing about this additional visitor, nor had they known Hugh was a widower with a child.

"Hello," Emma murmured, to their confused but heart-felt greetings. Ella especially felt her sympathetic heart open wide. Hugh's daughter was at the ungainly age between twelve and fourteen, and would never be beautiful. She had a head full of wispy, mouse-colored hair that wouldn't curl, held up unsuccessfully by hope and hairpins. Her small features were pretty taken one by one, but somehow did not fit together as they aught. She gave the impression of haphazardly assembled puzzle-pieces. Rose immediately saw that her severe brown dress did not go with her pale skin, and that the girl must have chosen her own ill-fitting hat, and the mismatched shoes.

Her father, on the other hand, had taken the time to dress appropriately, and his long hair was held back correctly at the back with a bow. He cleaned up nicely, Charlotte admitted to herself. His daughter seemed pleasant enough, but did not much favor her father in appearance.

The affable impression did not last. "I didn't want to come here," the girl informed them, marched into the sitting room, and plopped herself down on the sofa.

Charlotte sighed. It seemed the girl had inherited some of her father's traits, after all.

"Please excuse my daughter's manners," Hugh offered to them all, but mostly to Charlotte. "Her mother passed away many years ago, but she has still not recovered from the shock."

Charlotte looked struck, and Hugh looked pleased. Rose lifted her eyebrows at Thad. Thad shrugged.

"I'm so sorry," Ella cried. "Was it an accident?"

"Her coach overturned," Hugh said, briefly. Rose got the distinct impression that there was much more to the story than he let on.

"My dear," exclaimed Ella. "No wonder the poor darling is still distraught!" She went into the sitting room herself, and started speaking to Emma in a low voice. Ella was good with children, as she never spoke down to them, and her genuine sweetness was difficult to resist. Within minutes, she had smoothed the girl's ruffled feathers, and they all proceeded to dinner without further outbursts.

Hugh, to Rose's surprise, proved an amiable dinner companion, displaying none of the ill temper that he had at the ball. She narrowly observed the way his eyes flickered to Charlotte when that damsel was not attending him, and congratulated herself for the time she had spent on Charlotte's dress and hair, despite her cousin's protests. Aquamarine was a pretty color on most blondes, and Charlotte was no exception. The dress itself was low-cut enough to display her excellent figure, but in no way inappropriate for the evening. Pearls gave her skin luster, and Rose had twisted her hair into thick braids that she had then intertwined with each other, and fastened into shells over her ears. A few loose tendrils cascaded about, softening her features. The overall effect was quite pleasing.

Emma, flanked by Ella and Thad, attended to her meal in silence, her sour little face betraying very little animation.

"How long will you be staying," Hugh asked Ella, but his eyes once again flickered to Charlotte.

"We're not sure," Ella replied, cheerfully. "I'm beginning to think we might stay indefinitely. Rose is to marry Thad, and my husband is quite pleased with life out West. Mother and Dad are sure to stay, and even Uncle Charles …welll! If we can persuade Wade and Phoebe to come back to Houston, why, there would be no reason at all to go back."

"Excellent," Hugh replied, and turned to Charlotte. "I sincerely hope _you_ will be staying, too."

Charlotte, who had begun to warm towards him, recalled why exactly he was here, and scowled.

He took no offense at her silence. He smiled winningly. "I intend to visit the Ranch next week. Perhaps you could show me around?"

"I hate Ranches," Emma announced, as if she, too, had suddenly been struck by insight. "And I hate horses, too." She threw Charlotte a dark look.

"I'm certain you have been at the Ranch often before," Charlotte replied with fake sweetness. "I would have nothing new to show you."

"In that case, you must permit me to show you around," Hugh replied, grinning. "We cannot let you leave without impressing upon you the full beauty of the Texas landscape."

"Thank you, but I am thoroughly convinced already," Charlotte said, icily. She wasn't sure what game he was playing, but she didn't appreciate it.

He winked at her with good humor. "Perhaps I can come up with something ….new enough to interest you."

Charlotte scowled once more, mainly because she was not quick-witted enough to come up with a retort. The rest of the evening passed in relative harmony, with conversation made mainly by Hugh and Thad, interspersed with Ella trying to draw out Emma. The girl answered properly enough, but glowered at Charlotte whenever the opportunity presented itself. Charlotte, who felt herself unfairly singled out, in turn scowled at the father. It was, after all, all his fault.

When they left, Hugh bowed so low before Charlotte that it was almost caricature. "It was my great pleasure to see you again tonight. I hope it will not be the last time, my lady." A manservant helped him into his coat, and handed him his hat, and his walking-stick.

Caught of guard, Charlotte murmured something inaudible. He took her limp hand and kissed it, before taking Emma by the shoulder, and ushering her outside. The door fell shut behind them.

"Grrrrr," said Charlotte, shaking herself like a puppy after the rain. She turned, and walked up the stairs.

~~oo~~

It was only later, back in the darkness of her room, that Rose allowed her thoughts to stray back to earlier events.

After closing the door, Thad had lifted her up, and carried her to the sitting room to the Baby Grand Piano. He had placed her on his lap, a position that left little to the imagination of even a maiden like herself regarding the rawness of his desire. Any gently bred lady should have been mortified. Instead, she marveled that he could be restrained, and tender, with such heaviness between them.

His encircling arms lay on the keyboard, and in between speech he played little bursts of Schubert, or Chopin, infused with such exquisite yearning that it left her breathless.

"You see." he murmured into her hair. She closed her eyes, and listened. His breath on her scalp was warm. "Bodies are fickle things, Rosey. Lust has no timing, no sense of right or wrong, and no honor. You are ….so young, and it's perhaps unfair that women are not permitted to play with passion before having to settle down for the real thing." His right hand played Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu as he continued. "But this _is_ the real thing for me, Rosey, and I cannot even begin to pretend otherwise. I cannot change my past, but I can yet shape our future. Perhaps I am selfish. I want our first time to be on our wedding night, surrounded by candles and silk and roses. Memories to build on when the hard times strike -and they will."

Rose leaned herself back against his chest. Outside the window, a summer rain enclosed them like a curtain. In the distance, there was the low rumble of thunder. As his hand continued to softly strike the keys, he murmured into her dark curls all the things a young girl dreams of hearing from her lover.

* * *

_Selkies are seal-wives from Nordic legends. They look like human women when they shed their skin, but must return to the sea (unless the human lover burns or hides the skin, in which case they are trapped on land, but never lose the sea-yearning)._

_La Princesse de Clèves is sometimes called the first psychological novel. Two lovers separated by fate (she is forced to marry another, and an intrigue casts doubt on his fidelity). In the end, she is free, but refuses to marry him out of obligation to her late husband, who had asked her on his death bed not to marry his rival. Eventually his love wears out, and she dies. Yep, its that cheerful._

_Goya's Nude Maya ….if you haven't seen it, look it up and imagine how shocking that painting must have appeared in 1797 or there abouts._

_Cheers!_


End file.
